It's Our Problem
by Namikaze Artemis
Summary: Peter and Tony both pretend that they never learnt of their relation. But they can only do that for so long, especially when friend and foe alike won't let them just ignore it. Meanwhile, Peter desperately needs to know why the person he believed to be his father experimented on him. The problem is, superhero Peter may be, some things may be a little too dangerous to touch.
1. No Time Like The Present

**Long time no see, friends. The month was productive. Kind of. **

**So, we commence this story with a prelude. It's not exactly a prologue, per se, given that it doesn't really introduce the central conflict in this story. But it is necessary, so prelude it is.**

**New readers, I'll highly recommend reading the first story, "It's My Problem", before tackling this one. However, if you really don't want to, just remember that Peter is Tony's kid.**

* * *

Prelude: No Time Like The Present

* * *

"Please, Clint, I'm begging you." Peter aimed mournful eyes straight at Clint's face. "Don't tell anyone."

"And by anyone, you mean any of the other Avengers?" Clint clarified, crouching precariously on top of a machine of some sort on the rooftop of Stark Tower. Peter stood nearby, not batting an eyelid at Clint's bizarre location.

"By anyone, I mean i_anyone_/i," Peter said firmly, not trusting Clint to not tell anyone outside of the Avengers if Peter didn't clarify.

"You're no fun," Clint complained, a playful scowl on his face. He thought for a moment, before grudgingly giving Peter his answer. "Fine then. I'll keep mum."

He put up a finger to cut off Peter's relieved words of gratitude.

"But-" Clint said sharply. "I have two conditions."

"This'll be good," Peter groaned, running his hand through his hair. "Okay. I'll bite. What are your conditions?"

"One, you talk to your dear old man about your little not-secret," Clint started.

"Been there, done that," Peter said dismissively. "Next?"

"Woah, wait a sec." Clint leaned in, swaying a bit on the edge of his perch. "You talked with Stark already? When? What happened?"

"Yesterday," Peter replied easily. "And we both unanimously agreed to pretend it never happened."

"...Never happened?" Clint groaned. "Seriously? No sudden revelation that you love each other in a familial way? You're not gonna start calling Stark 'Dad'? Because seriously, that'd be hilarious to watch."

"Yeah, well, sorry to disappoint you," Peter said sarcastically. "What's your second condition?"

"Lemme tell Natasha," Clint answered. "I can't keep a secret from her."

Peter snorted incredulously. "You're a SHIELD agent. Of course you can keep secrets."

"I stand by my earlier statement," Clint said solemnly. His mouth quirked up into a smile for a brief moment.

Peter sighed. He really had no choice here, and better one Avenger then all of them.

"Fine, whatever," Peter grumbled. "I accept your conditions."

"Perfect!" Clint chirped. He jumped down from his perch and lightly landed on the ground in an impressive feat of agility. "I'm off to tell 'Tasha, then."

"Now?" Peter asked with a twinge of nervousness.

"Of course!" Clint replied, calling over his shoulder. He opened the rooftop's door. "No time like the present."

After blankly watching the door swing shut with a bang, Peter scrambled to get his regular clothing off to reveal the Spider-Man costume underneath.

There was _no way in hell _that he was going to stay here and wait for Clint to tell the Black Widow about his relation to Tony.

* * *

"I see," Natasha said calmly. She crossed her legs and leaned back on her room's rather comfortable chair.

"I see?" Clint repeated, crossing his arms. "That's your response? I see?!"

Natasha shrugged lightly. "Is there a problem with that?"

"Fess up, Coulson told you already, didn't he?" Clint demanded, scowling.

"Perhaps," Natasha said mildly.

"I can't believe that he told you and not me." Clint groaned. "Seriously?"

"I do have higher security clearance than you," Natasha pointed out.

"Never mind, it all makes sense now," Clint said, letting out an exaggerated sigh. "It was all about the security clearance."

"Of course it was," Natasha said, completely serious. "It was classified by SHIELD. Of course, SHIELD has no power if Parker decides to tell others of his own volition, as he apparently did already."

Clint shrugged. "Eh, what can I say? The kid likes me."

"Were you planning to tell the rest of the Avengers about it?" Natasha asked.

"I would, 'cept I told the kid that I wouldn't tell." Clint smirked. "Of course, it's not my fault if they figure it out by themselves."

"You do know it's classified, right, Clint?" Natasha said dryly.

"Of course. And I also know what _type_ of classified it is," Clint said smoothly, grinning. "Given that it wasn't SHIELD that told me about it, as long as no SHIELD agent straight -out tells me to keep quiet, I can do whatever I want with the knowledge."

"Why am I not surprised that you looked into loopholes?" Natasha sighed. "Keep it in the Avengers."

"I was planning on that anyhow." Clint shrugged. "No problem. Now excuse me as I go drop some blatant hints around Banner."

"Clint. Wait," Natasha said sharply.

Clint paused. "What?"

"You really want to break Parker's trust in you?" Natasha pointed out. "You know just as well as I do how hard it is to regain, and you seem close enough with him."

"Better he learn to mistrust people from me and with this than with something more important in the future," Clint replied. "Maybe he'll learn to word things more carefully in a negotiation, even with someone he knows well."

Natasha kept quiet for a little while, eyeing Clint. She then nodded.

"That's true. Do what you want."

"That's what I was gonna do already," Clint said flippantly.

* * *

The first time, Bruce hadn't thought much of it.

"Hey, Banner!" Clint had called out, walking into his laboratory. "What's up?"

Bruce had sighed and had reluctantly put down the test tube he had been examining. He had crushed the spark of irritation that had flashed up within him when Clint had interrupted him.

"Clint," Bruce had greeted calmly. "Did you want something?"

"Nothing," Clint had said innocently. "Just wondering, y'know. You spend a lot of time with Peter, right?"

"Some time, yes," Bruce had answered. "No less than you or Tony."

"He ever, uh, remind you of anyone?"

Bruce had frowned, his brows furrowing. It was true that Peter did occasionally remind him of Tony, but he was involved in some of the same areas of expertise as Tony. It was to be expected. Or perhaps Clint was referring to Peter's resemblance to Clint, which was also relatively to spot. They both had a similar sense of humour, and enjoyed surprising people from their various perches. Really, Bruce could easily think of some sort of resemblance to any of the Avengers, if he thought hard enough.

"No," Bruce had lied, figuring that Clint was more likely to elaborate if he gave a negative response. "Why?"

Clint had looked disappointed. "Alright then, never mind. See you later, Banner."

Bruce had blinked in confusion at Clint's sudden departure, before shrugging and returning to his work. Bruce had figured that it was preparation for another prank or something.

There had been a couple more low-key incidents during the next few months, but nothing too evidently strange until that incident in February.

Then, he had begun to wonder.

Bruce and Tony had been in Tony's workshop, discussing one of Tony's newest inventions. Clint had then suddenly burst in.

His eyes had lit up at the sight of Bruce, which had been rather strange.

"Hey, Stark," Clint had chirped. "Don't see your kid around today."

It took Bruce a short moment to figure out that Clint probably meant Peter.

Tony had flinched slightly before responding.

"Peter's not here everyday, birdbrain," Tony had retorted, a deep scowl on his face.

"Oh yeah, he's got that internship now, doesn't he?" Clint had said as if he hadn't known already. "Good thing you didn't put in a good word for him or anything- wouldn't want to be accused of nepotism."

Bruce had stared at Clint, raising an eyebrow. "Clint, it would only be nepotism if they were related."

At this point, Tony had been positively glaring daggers at Clint.

"Right, right," Clint had said, in that same cheerful tone. "I meant favoritism. My bad."

"Piss off," Tony had finally snapped.

Bruce had been surprised at the unusual vehemence in Tony's voice.

Clint had put his hands up and had backed away defensively.

"Yeah, yeah, got it." Clint had shrugged. "I'll be going now."

As soon as Clint had left, Bruce had opened his mouth to question Tony about Clint's curious actions. Tony had distracted him before he could get started, pointing out something particularly interesting on the blueprints.

Bruce had still marked the incident down in the back of his mind, however.

He recalled each of those incidents now, in March, as Clint goaded Peter, dragging out a peculiar reaction.

Bruce would figure out what was happening, or he would drag it out of Clint himself.

* * *

Peter groaned, slamming his head on the table of the kitchen most commonly used by the Avengers. Last night, he had had the joy of fighting a new supervillain. Luckily, it hadn't been some genius megalomaniac supervillain- just a run-of-the-mill 'steal stuff, destroy everything' supervillain.

(Oh, lovely. He had a classification for run-of-the-mill supervillains now.)

Still, he had received some kind of dangerous injuries on the job, so he had reluctantly headed over to the Tower to get some medical treatment.

It had been late, and the next day had been a Saturday, so Peter had called up Aunt May to tell her that he would be staying at a friend's house for the night. Thankfully, Aunt May still had enough trust in him to accept the excuse. Peter had then crashed down into one of Tony's many extra rooms and slept like a rock.

He still felt horrible, even after all the sleep he had gotten.

"Hey, Peter!" Clint's voice rang out.

Peter lifted his head slightly to glare at Clint, then put his head back into his arms.

"Seen your _dad_ anywhere?" Clint asked, an amused tone to his voice. Peter couldn't believe how childish the sentence was, and he was the one who was a teenager.

Peter got up from the table and shot a piercing glare at Clint. He cast a nervous glance at Captain America and Bruce, who were also in the room. Luckily, it seemed as though they hadn't noticed anything.

"I haven't a clue who you're talking about," Peter snarked, his previous tiredness dissipating. He shoved his hands into his sweatshirt's pockets and scowled. "I'll be going now."

"Oh, I was talking about Stark," Clint clarified unnecessarily, grinning. His eyes flicked towards Bruce, who had seemingly decided to listen in on the conversation. At least Captain America was still more interested in the coffee machine than their conversation.

Peter's scowl deepened. So, that was his game. A poor attempt to reveal the fact that Tony was biologically his father.

"Sometimes, I hate you, you know that?" Peter said rhetorically. He flipped around and headed towards the open door, grabbing his backpack on the way.

"Peter," Bruce said, in that quiet, nondescript voice of his. Peter stopped, internally groaning. "What's going on between you, Clint, and probably Tony?"

Peter sighed and reluctantly turned back around.

"Nothing!" he said cheerfully, pasting an awfully genuine smile on his face. "Clint's just being annoying, as usual."

"Oh, you're one to talk, Mr. Cheesy One-Liner," Clint shot back.

Bruce's eyes bore into Peter's. Peter's smile turned rather nervous. Bruce turned his head to the side slightly, almost as if he were studying Peter.

"You know, Peter, your facial structure is quite similar to Tony's," Bruce noted.

Peter paled to a pasty white within moments, unable to stop his natural biological impulses.

Bruce's eyes widened at Peter's harsh reaction at his words. He glanced at Clint, who quickly hid a wide smile, and then back at Peter.

"You're not really- that was just-" Bruce stammered. The captain, who had been seemingly not paying attention to the conversation up to this point, had leaned in somewhat to listen.

"Thanks a _lot_, Clint," Peter snapped, a vicious edge to his tone. "Great friend you are."

"You shouldn't keep secrets." Clint shrugged, unrepentant. His eyes were unreadable. "Or at least, you should learn how to keep them better."

Captain America frowned, his eyes darting from person to person. "I'm sorry if this isn't any of my business, but what exactly happened?"

"Will I or will you?" Clint asked Peter, raising an eyebrow.

Peter let out a resigned sigh. He knew that it would come out eventually, especially when Clint knew, but he hadn't expected Clint to so obviously hint at it. Then again, at least he hadn't outright told them.

"I will," Peter replied, steeling his nerves. He placed a wide smile on his face and raised his hands to the side. "Tony may have kind of slept with my mother nine months before I was born. I was the result. Surprise!"

He cocked his head to the side with a confidence he didn't feel, and crushed his urge to run away. He had done enough of that before.

Bruce was the first to move after Peter's proclamation. He headed for the door, citing that he needed to think about this.

Captain America had blinked several times, his mouth falling ever so slightly open. He then shut his mouth into a grim line and let out a breath from his nose.

"I… I need to go talk to Tony," the captain said, evidently shaken. He didn't look at Peter as he left the room.

(Maybe it was his forties morals. Maybe he didn't want to associate with a child 'born out of wedlock.')

Peter shot a cold look at Clint, who returned it unrepentantly.

"I'm going," Peter said simply, hoisting his backpack up onto his left shoulder. He walked out the kitchen, saying nothing more.

* * *

The next few weeks weren't as difficult as Peter had feared they would be.

Peter still couldn't bring himself to forgive Clint completely, but he ended up falling back into the kind-of friend relationship that they had before. Peter suspected that it was because he subconsciously blamed himself and not Clint for the secret's reveal, given that Peter had told Clint in the first place. Peter hated the way that he blamed himself for everything.

(Then again, it was often his fault anyways.)

Thor, surprisingly enough, had accepted it easier than the Black Widow had. He had boomingly declared his surprise at the revelation that Peter was the 'son of the mighty Man of Iron' then let it go.

Bruce had decided to respect Tony and Peter's decision on the subject. Given that they insisted that their relation wasn't anything important, Bruce agreed and didn't pester either of them about it.

According to Clint, Captain America had had words with Tony. Peter really didn't have a clue what the dear old captain had to say on the matter, and he really didn't want to know. Thankfully, after whatever Tony had said, Captain America had decided not to lecture Peter about anything.

Still, even if he had somewhat forgiven Clint, he knew that he wouldn't let go of his secrets so easily next time.

(Even if the guilt had been gnawing away at his insides.)

Truth be told, it was a bit of a relief that there was at least one group of people that he had no secrets with. Not that he'd ever tell Clint that.

Anyhow, the school year was nearly over, and summer was quickly approaching. He planned to spend his summer working, superheroing, hanging out with Gwen…

… and searching for information on Richard Parker.

* * *

**Feel free to point out any typos or anything. I'd be grateful. **

**I'm sure you haven't gotten an exact feel of where the story's going with just the prelude, but I hope you like it so far.**


	2. It's Curiosity, That's All

**Some people may call me a mere fanfiction writer, but I prefer to consider myself a teacher. Lesson number one; nice SHIELD agents? There is no such thing.**

**On this note, this fic will not be Iron Man 3 compliant. **

**Anywho, I know I've had people complaining about Clint and how Peter forgave him too easily. In my humble opinion, Peter, being a friendless introvert for a long while, doesn't want to lose friends. So, while right now, Peter has convinced himself to 'forgive' him, it's superficial at best. The issue will be addressed, though, so don't worry.**

**Another thing; I do love Clint. But I'm not one to let my characters off easily just because they're one of my favourites. I have no patience for bashing characters, even ones I hate, so I assure you that I'm not 'bashing' him. **

**That being said, if you do have a complaint or criticism about this story, feel free to tell me. I enjoy it, and I'm not one of those authors who can't see any flaws in their work. I know my story has many flaws, but I hope you enjoy it through them all.**

* * *

Chapter 1:It's Curiosity, That's All

* * *

Norman Osborn knew the dangers of lackeys. Oh, he had painfully learnt that lesson with Dr. Otto Octavius. He did not plan to make that sort of mistake with his latest exploits.

Unfortunately, he was no scientist. He was smart, but business smart. He needed to have the opinion of a real biologist on the Green Goblin Serum. Osborn knew that it dangerous taking the Goblin Serum, but he needed the Goblin Serum in order to take his revenge. He would be more careful this time around; he wasn't as desperate. He should've known better than to trust anything from that organization.

Dr. Miles Warren was a respected biologist that had been working at OsCorp for over eight years. From Osborn's observations, he wasn't too dangerous, and he could be easily bought over. Perfect for his needs.

Osborn walked into Dr. Warren's laboratory in the OsCorp tower. Until recently, Dr. Warren had been using a shared laboratory with a few other biologists. But the other day, Dr. Warren had received a promotion. It wouldn't do for those other biologists to get curious about Dr. Warren's work.

"Dr. Warren," Osborn said loudly, getting Dr. Warren's attention.

Dr. Warren looked up from the microscope he had been looking into. As soon as he noticed that Osborn had been the one to call his name, he quickly jumped away from his microscope, giving a nod to Osborn.

"Mr. Osborn!" Dr. Warren exclaimed. "Are you here about that formula?"

"Yes," Osborn said simply. "What have you found out?"

Dr. Warren motioned for Osborn to follow him. He walked to a nearby lab table and picked up a vial filled with a glowing green substance.

"Now, I've been conducting a few tests with this substance." Dr. Warren explained, waving at a number of mouse cages on the table. "The mice that were fed a large amount of the substance inevitably died within a few days, as did those who were fed a medium amount. However, those who were only fed a very small amount- around zero point two percent of their total body mass- experienced heightened strength and speed, without any of the side effects that the other mice experienced."

"I see," Osborn murmured.

"I'm in the process of conducting more in-depth experiments at the moment, but so far, side-effects start to appear when the mice are fed more than zero point four percent of their total body mass of the substance," Dr. Warren explained. "But of course, I need to observe the mice during a much longer period of time to confirm that there are no long term side effects. It's very likely that there are, considering that larger amounts of the substance are a death sentence."

"Very well." Osborn nodded. "You'll continue your experiments."

"Yes, of course." Dr. Warren nodded his head vigorously. He seemed rather excited at the prospect. Osborn didn't mind; as long as Dr. Warren knew his place, he could be as excited as he wanted.

"Inform me of any breakthroughs and new side-effects," Osborn ordered. "And work on finding a cure for the side-effects. Better yet, alter the formula so the side-effects don't appear."

He flipped around and strode out of the laboratory, ignoring Dr. Warren's hasted agreements.

Osborn desperately wanted to take his revenge. But, now that the disease wasn't eating away at him, shaving away his life one year at a time, he could look at things objectively. He didn't need to drink a dangerous substance until the danger had been reduced to an acceptable level.

He had time.

He would wait.

And then he would strike.

* * *

Peter scrounged around in his locker, looking for his eraser. The third day of classes, and he had already started to lose stuff. Luckily, given that it was still the start of the year, there were no unpleasant surprises in his locker. Unluckily, that didn't mean that it wouldn't take forever to find his eraser- and he only had five minutes to get to his class.

"Screw this," Peter muttered, slamming his locker shut. He could survive without an eraser for one class, he was sure.

The sound of students racing to their classes was starting to die down- a bad sign. Clenching his Biology textbook, Peter stood up from his kneeling position, ready to get to class. He was probably already going to be often late in the mornings because of his Spider-Man job- he didn't need to be late for his afternoon classes too.

So, naturally, hearing Flash's antagonistic voice made him let out a gusty sigh.

"Hey, watch where you're going!"

On the bright side, Flash wasn't talking to him.

(A moot point. The moment Peter heard Flash's voice, it became his problem.)

(If only he had learnt this philosophy earlier.)

Peter turned around, a dark look in his eyes. He scanned the scene. Flash was standing in front of some guy, someone's school supplies scattered across the floor. Most likely, Flash had bumped into the guy and had promptly blamed him for the accident.

Really, for an athlete, Flash had horrible reflexes.

"Flash," Peter greeted, a scowl crossing his face. "So much for character development, huh."

A brief flash of confusion flickered over Flash's face as he obviously pondered over Peter's words. His eyes widened suddenly, realizing what Peter had meant.

"I d-didn't-" Flash stuttered. Peter savored the moment. The day Eugene "Flash" Thompson actually stuttered. He would mark it down in his calendar.

The stutter was a brief thing, unfortunately. Flash quickly composed himself and sent a scowl in Peter's direction.

"Whatever, Parker," Flash snapped. He turned his gaze back towards the redheaded guy in front of him. "And Oz, or whatever your name was, be more careful next time."

Flash ran down the hallway, leaving the redheaded guy to pick up what appeared to be his school supplies. Peter resisted the urge to quip at Flash about the no-running-in-the-hallways rule. He was Peter Parker right now, not Spider-Man.

(And there would always be a clear-cut line between the two.)

"Thanks," the guy said grudgingly, standing up and facing Peter. "You really didn't need to, though."

"Probably. But Flash claimed last year that he was done with the whole schoolyard bully stuff." Peter gave the guy- who seemed awfully familiar- a quirky smile. "Just wanted to make sure that he hadn't decided to restart his previous activities- namely, Parker punching. That's me, by the way, Peter Parker."

Of course, now he remembered. The guy in front of him was Harry Osborn, proud owner of the locker two spaces to the right of him and the son of OsCorp founder Norman Osborn. Peter briefly wondered why he had transferred to Midtown Science.

"Anyhow, I'd love to stay and talk, really, but I don't want to be lat-" Peter was cut off by the sound of the bell ringing. He sighed. "Well, so much for that. See you around, I guess."

Peter flipped around and started to briskly walk to his class. He would've run, but the last thing he needed was to be stopped by some gung-ho teacher for running.

After walking for a couple dozen metres, he realized that Harry Osborn was shadowing him.

Peter swallowed down the wisecrack that threatened to escape from his throat.

(Having a secret identity was just so _annoying_ sometimes.)

"So your class is in the same direc-" Peter started, going for a more diplomatic comment.

"-We're in the same class," Harry cut in bluntly.

"Oh," Peter said awkwardly. In his defense, it was only the third day of school. It would be weirder if he knew who was in his class, like Mr. Stalker here. "Right then."

They walked in silence for barely half a minute before Peter spoke up again.

"So, can I use you as an excuse for being late?" Peter asked, only half-joking. He cast a glance back at Harry. "Helping the new kid around is a legitimate excuse, right?"

Harry raised an eyebrow, a mildly irritated look on his face. "No. I'm not so stupid that I can't get to my class by myself."

"Oh well." Peter shrugged. "It's the third day, the teacher's bound to give us some leeway. We'll probably only get an hour of detention instead of ten."

Harry let out a soft snort, before pausing. "Wait. You weren't being serious, were you?"

"Mr. Gallant's pretty strict, so..." Peter dragged out the last word, leaving the rest of the sentence to Harry's imagination. He inwardly laughed at Harry's somewhat worried expression. "Lighten up, I'm just kidding. I have no idea what sort of teacher Mr. Gallant is just yet- one class isn't enough to figure that out."

Harry scowled, his mouth opening to say something. Peter cut him off before he could say anything.

"And, here we are. Here's for hoping that Mr. Gallant's a nice teacher," Peter muttered. He shot a grin at Harry before opening the door.

Knowing his luck, Mr. Gallant would assign them both two weeks of lunchtime detention.

* * *

"JARVIS, do you know what Tony's working on today?" Peter asked JARVIS, looking up at the ceiling automatically. He knew that JARVIS could hear him even if he was talking to the ground, but as JARVIS' speakers were located in the ceiling, his head unconsciously turned itself in that direction.

"Sir is working on new set of arrows for Mr. Barton," JARVIS answered politely.

Peter was currently in the elevator of Stark Tower, heading down to Tony's workshop. He often stopped by the Tower on the days he didn't have other obligations. Luckily, Mr. Gallant had decided to give both Peter and Harry some leeway. It was guaranteed that Tony would be always working on something interesting should he be in his workshop. Sure, Tony usually regarded work done for Stark Industries to be boring and inane, but Peter, more often than not, thought it fascinating.

Of course, Tony usually wasn't as talkative as usual if he was working on something that he thought was actually interesting- say, improvements for his armor. That was fine with Peter, truthfully. He wasn't always a great talker, and it was fun enough trying to figure out how the hell the things Tony made worked.

JARVIS usually was kind enough to throw up a few holographic blueprints for Peter to mess around with. Peter probably knew more about all of the latest Stark tech than anyone- save Tony, of course.

When Tony was working on the armor, Peter usually was shooed off. Peter understood why, of course. Tony didn't want anyone understanding exactly how his armor worked, and with good reason. It didn't mean that Tony didn't trust him.

(At least, that's what he told himself.)

Tony wasn't so strict with the other Avengers' tech, possibly because the rest of the Avengers wouldn't be completely and totally screwed should their tech become unusable. Peter had even designed a couple of Clint's arrow sets himself, befor-.

(Before nothing.)

Tony had asked Peter a number of times to let him tinker with Peter's web-shooters. Given that Tony was used to being given full access to most of the Avengers' tech, Peter refusing to let Tony mess with his web-shooters drove Tony crazy sometimes. The first few months, Peter could deal with the complaining, but eventually Peter had responded with a rather snarky remark.

(Tell you what, Tony, you can look at my web-shooters if I can look at your armor.)

(It wasn't petty. It wasn't.)

Since then, Tony had used a different tactic. Every so often, Tony would make his own variation of Peter's web-shooters. Tony wanted to make a better version of Peter's tech without even looking at the original web-shooters.

And if Tony had succeeded in making a better version, Peter would've gracefully accepted defeat.

(Okay, so maybe not 'gracefully'.)

But Tony had let Peter use the stuff around Tony's workshop to improve his web-shooters. Before, Tony could've easily made a better version of Peter's original web-shooters, given Peter's rather small budget. But, being able to use the same materials as Tony leveled the playing field somewhat.

With a soft ding, the elevator doors opened and Peter stepped out.

"Hi, Tony," Peter said, his eyes landing on Tony. He appeared to be working on the blueprints of a new arrow type. "More arrows? You'd think that there was a limit to the number of types you could make. I mean, seriously, how many different kinds have you made already?"

"Twenty-eight," Tony answered absent-mindedly, flicking something on the hologram. "So Clint currently has twenty-eight types in total, including the ones you made and the ones he had from the start."

"And, of course you've memorized the exact number," Peter said, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly. He walked up to Tony, scanning the hologram. Tony was apparently trying to figure out how to make an arrow that would spew water upon hitting the target. "What, you didn't delete it from your brain for being unimportant or something?"

"I'm not Sherlock Holmes, Peter," Tony retorted.

"Oh, you got that," Peter muttered. Peter stared at the hologram for a few moments. "Did you try compressi-"

"-Not aerodynamic enough," Tony dismissed. "Barton wouldn't be able to shoot it."

"Right." Peter nodded. "Well, you could make the arrow bigger. I don't see any other way to store an useful amount of water on the arrow."

"That... that'd probably work," Tony admitted grudgingly. "But it feels like cheating, and it'd be harder for Barton to shoot. I'll figure out a different way."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Fine, you do that."

Tony started to mess around with the hologram in front of him again. "So, how was school? Having fun spending a quarter of your day listening to droning idiots who don't understand a thing?"

"Oh, ha ha, Tony," Peter said dryly. "Sometimes, I think you hate school more than the average teenager does. School was the same as always. Anyways, I was just wondering... You wouldn't know how to get around a triple key-lock encryption, would you?"

"A triple key-lock encryption?" Tony let out a groan and deleted the holograph, throwing it into a virtual trash can. He opened up a new blank file and started again. "Okay, I know you're not trying to get into the SHIELD mainframe, because one- SHIELD doesn't use triple key-lock encryption and two- I already helped you get into the SHIELD mainframe."

"I didn't hack into the SHIELD mainframe," Peter said with faux innocence. "You must be mistaken. I'd never do that. I just asked you about SHIELD's firewalls for reference. As is the case here."

"Uh huh," Tony said skeptically. "I'll have you know that they noticed your little incursion about a week after you hacked in. I calmed them down by saying that I had JARVIS hack into their servers to test their strength, so be grateful. Though, I got a few hundred thousand dollars for improving their firewalls, so there's that, I guess."

"I still say that I didn't hack into SHIELD," Peter said firmly, the edges of his mouth twitching up into a smile.

"I'm not helping you this time unless you tell me what you're looking for and who you plan to hack," Tony retorted, glancing back at Peter. "Also, I'm not bailing you out if you end up in jail for criminal activities."

"You're a horrible role model, you know that, right?" Peter sighed.

"Hey, I'm a wonderful role model," Tony insisted. "Role model of the year, that's me."

"Whatever you say, Tony," Peter snarked. He ignored Tony's faux offended response.

Should he tell Tony what he was planning to do?

On one hand, he needed to figure out how to get past a triple key lock encryption, and Tony was the only person he knew that could help him with that.

On the other hand, it was possible that Tony would refuse to help him.

Peter weighed his choices for about two seconds before making his decision.

"Look, I want to know what Richard Parker was doing when he died," Peter admitted, scratching his head. He avoided Tony's gaze.

"Richard Parker," Tony repeated. His tone of voice didn't reveal what he was thinking. "I assume you're talking about your father? Or well, the guy who was married to your mother and proceeded to do experiments on your three-year old self?"

"The latter, yeah." Peter gave Tony a crooked smile. "I need to know why. Well, I want to know at least. And if I learn who was employing him, I can get closer to my answer."

"You sure there's an employer?" Tony said quietly. "Look, Peter, you might want to think the best of-"

"- it's not like that. Trust me," Peter said firmly. "From the moment I learnt what he did to me, any feelings I may have had for him disappeared."

(Or so he wished.)

"It's curiosity, that's all," Peter insisted. He hesitated before continuing. "And... I want to know that there's no one else like me, who has dormant cross-species genomes in them. I was lucky nothing too bad happened to me. Dr. Connors -The Lizard- he wasn't so lucky."

Tony sighed, scratched his head, then finally made his decision.

"Fine. I'll teach you how to get past a triple key-lock encryption. Just keep this between you and me, yeah? Steve would probably object. Where are you trying to get into?"

"OsCorp," Peter replied. "It's where my father worked up to his death."

"OsCorp?" Tony repeated incredulously. He smiled ferally. "Well, that's something I can get behind. Okay then, listen closely..."

Tony had barely managed to explain the basics when an alarm rang. Peter had heard the alarm go off more than a few times before. He knew what it meant.

"You gonna need help?" Peter asked automatically.

"Doubt it," Tony said dismissively. "But we'll call if we need someone to tie stuff up."

"Oh, ha ha," Peter called out to Tony, who was already heading to get his suit. He rolled his eyes, a scowl landing on his face. He grudgingly left the workshop, knowing that it would be best for him not to butt into a fight he wasn't invited to.

Still, Peter would head out as Spider-Man; just in case.

* * *

**Disclaimer: I can't do SCIENCE. I made up everything in this chapter pertaining to the subject. **


	3. Hey, Christmas Colours!

**So, since someone was wondering, this is movieverse for **_**The Amazing Spider-Man**_** and**_** The Avengers. **_**I do take some aspects from other Spider-Man media, however.**

**Fun fact: any character mentioned by their full name is a canonical Spider-Man character. Especially villains. **

* * *

Chapter 2: Hey, Christmas Colours!

* * *

"Robots. Giant robots. Attacking the Brooklyn Bridge," Tony deadpanned, aiming a repulsor blast to one of the robot's arm joints. "Looks like this week's supervillain decided to ask Google for a list of the top ten stereotypical supervillain attacks."

There were two robots, both a couple dozen metres long. They were similar in design, with only minute differences between the two. The robots were vaguely humanoid, though they had nothing resembling a face- or even a head. Red light glowed from their joints, reflecting off their metallic green shell in an eerie way.

Before the Avengers (minus Bruce, as Steve had figured that the Hulk destabilizing the bridge further was the last thing that they needed) had arrived, the robots had been wreaking havoc on the bridge. But after they arrived, they promptly turned their attention onto them.

"Lost any tech latel-" Clint started, his voice crackling in from his earphone.

"-No. I think you'd be better pressed to ask yourself that, Barton," Tony said scathingly. "SHIELD seems to have had problems with keeping secrets lately, after all."

"For now, let's concentrate on stopping the robots," Steve said, somewhat wearily. "We can deal-" Here, Steve grunted. Glancing towards the ground, he spotted Steve pushing his shield against one of the robot's massive feet, sparks flying every which way. Thor stepped in with a mighty blow with his hammer before Tony could help, the robot's foot bending in a fifty-eight degree. Tony didn't bother with any false hopes- a robot like this wouldn't allow itself to be stopped by a slightly bent limb. True to his thoughts, the robot slammed its foot onto the ground, creating a nasty crater and bending his foot back to its original state.

Still, there was only so much material fatigue the robot could take. Even if they failed to completely rip off the robot's limb, as long as they bent it enough times, it would break off of its own volition.

But that in itself wouldn't mean victory- far from it, in fact. The Avengers needed to minimize collateral damage, and a crippled robot falling onto the Brooklyn Bridge was the last thing they needed.

"As I was saying, we can deal with where they came from later," Steve continued. "Iron Man, have you found any weak points of the robots yet?"

"Easier said than done. If you're not me, that is," Tony answered flippantly. "JARVIS is doing a scan right now. 'Till then, we should just attack the arm joints. I would suggest attacking the sensors, but as we don't know where they are..."

"Why not the leg joints?" Clint demanded. A ball of fire exploded out from one of the arms, likely Clint's work. The red lights rapidly flickered on and off for a few moments, before deciding to stay off. The arm hung at the robot's side, useless. Clint had likely hit one of the power connections.

"Hey, Christmas colours," Tony muttered under his breath, noting the red and green scheme.

"We don't want to destroy the bridge, Hawkeye," Natasha pointed out.

"Right." Tony nodded, flying up higher to give JARVIS an easier time scanning the robots. "If we're gonna bring these things down, we want them to be depowered, not..."

"Not flailing all the way down?" Steve said dryly. Tony spotted him aiming his shield towards another arm joint.

"Exactly," Tony replied. "Nice of them to paint a target on all their joints, though."

Steve's shield bounced off the robot's metallic armour, just barely missing the joint. Steve rolled under an overturned car in an impressive burst of agility and grabbed his shield before it could hit the ground.

"Sir, the scan is complete." JARVIS' crisp voice entered his ears just as the results started to pop up in front of him.

"Right!" Tony said cheerfully, dropping down to aim another repulsor blast at one of the robots' lower torso. "The power source is located in the robots' lower body. From the scans, the robot seems to be powered by high energy photon-"

"- Will there be problems if we destroy it?" Steve cut in.

"Alright, alright, I get the hint." Tony rolled his eyes. "No, this type of energy source isn't too unstable. I wouldn't recommend Thor hitting it with his lightning, however. But as there isn't a convenient target for the power source- figures- we're gonna have to go with a brute force attack."

"Understood," Steve said calmly, his voice edging into authoritarian. "Thor, Black Widow, Hawkeye- you take the robot on the right. Iron Man and I will take the other. Thor, avoid using your lightning, as Iron Man said."

"Aye, aye, Captain," Tony snarked, the others giving their various sounds of agreement. Tony was in the process of gliding down to attack the robot when the scans started showing strange images.

"The power's all moving to their arms...?" Tony murmured, his eyes flicking between the images of the two robots. His eyes widened in realization a mere second later. "Oh, fu- guys, there's a high energy likely electrical blast heading our way. Better duck under something, quick."

There was no time for them to reply. Multiple streams of electricity flew out of the robots, heading towards each of the Avengers. Tony made a half-hearted attempt to avoid the blast. He knew that with him being as close as he was, there was no way he could escape it. He just hoped that the less-protected Avengers had managed to avoid the blast. Luckily, his armour was shielded against blasts like thes-

Tony's suit suddenly short-circuited. Milliseconds later, a strangled scream escaped from Tony's throat, electricity coursing through his body in a burst of horrid pain.

His display flickered haphazardly, JARVIS' voice cracking as the suit attempted to restore power.

This wasn't _possible_.

No, that wasn't the right statement. It was obviously possible. He just needed to figure out how, or he had just gained a very bad weakness.

Tony had a moment to be thankful for the fact that a blast like that would've completely depowered the robots before hitting the ground and conking out.

* * *

Tony blinked, his eyes squinting at the bright white ceiling before closing again.

He knew where he was.

Tony attempted to move his arm. His arm let out of burst of pain in protest, but it moved. He wasn't _that_ hurt then, obviously.

Opening his eyes again, he tried to move himself into a sitting position. After about half a minute and too much pain, he succeeded.

Tony looked around at the windowless, whitewashed room with a sigh.

"SHIELD medical facility, we meet again," Tony muttered irritably.

With a grunt of pain, Tony moved his body to the side of the bed, feet touching the floor. Pain shot through his arms as he tried to push himself up.

Groaning in frustration, he fell back onto the bed. He needed to know what had happened, but with his body refusing to cooperate and not a piece of technology in sight, he was stuck here for a bit longer.

Though the cameras in the room were well-hidden, Tony knew there were there. SHIELD had cameras in every room of their many facilities. Now that he was awake, he was sure that SHIELD would send one of their medical personnel in sooner or later.

Tony entertained himself by analyzing the previous battle and trying to figure out how that electrical blast had gotten past his defenses. A mere jolt of electricity shouldn't have even hurt him- hell, it could even power him up, as Thor had learnt before. Obviously, that blast hadn't been just a run-of-the-mill bolt of electricity.

It was possible that the blast had somehow been specifically tuned to the energy emission of the suit. If so, that was worrying. He kept all information about his suit under lock and key, far away from even SHIELD's grimy hands. While it was remotely possible that someone had managed to hack into his personal archives, it was very unlikely. So, the more probable explanation was that someone had scanned him during one of his fights- which meant that he was going to have to somehow change his energy emission frequency and build some sort of shield to prevent information like that leaking in the future.

Given that the robots hadn't been fitted with a power source strong enough to continue moving after the blast, either the supervillain behind it hadn't had the money or it had just been a test run.

Though Tony wished with all his heart that it was the former, he knew it was likely it was latter. That meant he needed his body to cooperate and get him out of here as soon as possible. For once, he barely had a clue how to change the energy emission frequency of his suit. It was connected to the arc reactor, which was powering the suit, and he couldn't easily change the arc reactor.

He wanted to be in his workshop. Problems like this were so much easier to deal with in his workshop.

Suddenly, the white wooden door on the left side of the room slid open without even a creak.

"Mr. Stark?"

It was one of SHIELD's medical personnel. Tony reluctantly let him examine him, knowing that he wouldn't be able to get out until his body worked the way he wanted it to.

Though Tony pestered the doctor with questions throughout the examination, the doctor didn't have much to say. He told him that Steve had been hospitalized as well, and that he was stable. According to the doctor, none of the other Avengers had been hospitalized, much to Tony's relief. Likely, Thor had managed to shield Barton and Natasha. Electricity wouldn't do much to the god of thunder.

After a strenuous half an hour, the doctor informed Tony that he would have to stay here for at least two weeks, which Tony mentally changed to one. Once Tony gave the doctor a genial smile and a reassurance that he wouldn't try to escape the medical facility against medical advice, the doctor finally left.

Not five minutes after the doctor had left, a familiar teenager poked his head in.

"Peter?" Tony said, raising an eyebrow. "What are you doing here?"

Peter laughed sheepishly, running a hand through his hair. He entered the room and closed the door behind him before settling down on a small swivel chair.

"Well, I wanted to see if you were alright," Peter explained. He looked over Tony's sorry state with a slightly horrified expression. "I mean, I saw everything on television later, and it looked pretty bad."

Tony held back a groan at Peter's guilty look. Did he really think he would've made a difference either way? He was a teenager, not a heavy fighter.

"Look, if you had been there, you would most likely be dead," Tony said bluntly.

Peter looked as though he wanted to argue, but he held his tongue.

"Anyways, I headed to the Tower yesterday," Peter continued on explaining. "The Black Widow and C-Clint weren't there, but Bruce was. He told me where you were. It took me a little while to get myself on the visitor's list, but I managed, even if it's a crap job that'll probably get discovered in a few hours."

"Peter, you really need to learn how to hack into SHIELD and leave no traces." Tony shook his head mockingly, then regretted it as it sent a jolt of pain into his body. "Anyways, you wouldn't happen to know what's happened since the battle, would you?"

"Bruce knew a lot," Peter said, as a way of explanation. "Thor blocked the blasts that were heading towards Clint and the Black Widow, so there were no problems there. But, apparently Captain America's shield didn't stand a chance against the electrical bolt. He probably would've been a lot worse off if he hadn't let go of the shield and ducked out of the way right after the blast hit. The blast didn't last long, so apparently he survived with relatively minimal wounds."

"Steve's shield is made out of vibranium," Tony muttered, frowning. "It shouldn't have given in so easily- unless- of course. Vibranium, that's the key."

"Vibranium?" Peter repeated, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Extremely rare metal with unique properties," Tony explained shortly. "It's what Steve's shield is made of, and also what my arc reactor is powered by. I did have safeguards against practically any sort of electrical bolt, but if whoever made those robots tailored them specifically to get past that metal..."

"Do you know who did it?" Peter asked.

"In case you haven't noticed, I've been stuck in this room for..." Tony frowned. His sense of time always got skewed after a coma. "How long has it been since the fight?"

"Two days, just about," Peter replied.

"Right, two days." Tony nodded. "I haven't exactly been able to go researching. And speaking of researching, did you happen to bring any of my stuff?"

Peter looked sheepish. "I did, but they confiscated it. They said something about not wanting you to have it after last time."

"Damn. Guess you tried, at least." Tony sighed. "You know, I've been meaning to ask you this for a while, but why do you call Steve and Natasha by their superhero names?"

Peter looked flustered. He waved his hands out haphazardly. "Well, you know, I mean, the Black Widow's a bit... scary... and she hadn't told me to call her something else, so..."

Tony snickered. "Okay, I can see that. What about Steve, then?"

"It's just..." Peter scratched his head, averting his gaze. "I don't think the Captain likes me much. And he's, well, Captain America."

"You got that wrong, Peter," Tony said hesitantly. "Look, I'm pretty sure that Cap doesn't hate _you_. He does, however, hate what you _do_."

"Superheroing," Peter said flatly.

"Yup." Tony said, his voice growing sharp. "Don't get me wrong. We all hate what you do. Look at me, Peter. I've just woken up from a two day coma- and the fact I can get myself in a sitting position makes this one of my lesser injuries. This is what being a superhero means, and it's seriously not something you should want to get into."

Peter didn't say anything. He just glared, a scowl on his face.

His opinion on the subject was obvious.

"Meh, it was a worth a shot." Tony closed his eyes, leaning back onto the bed. "Try talking to him sometime. Steve's a stick in the mud, sure, but he's an okay guy. You'd get along, I'm sure. Eventually, at least."

"I guess it couldn't hurt." Peter shrugged. A self-deprecating smile floated onto his face. "If I can work up the courage to actually talk to him, that is."

Tony rolled his eyes. "You're a superhero. I'd say that the danger level of starting up a conversation with Captain America ranks at about one on a scale of one to ten."

"Yeah, I guess." Peter smiled again, this time at Tony. "Anyways, I'd better get going. If you really did just wake up from a two-day coma, you need your rest."

"Trust me, the bigger problem is dying of boredom," Tony assured Peter. "What was it that you wanted before the attack? How to get past a three-key encryption? Tell you what, I'll explain it to you."

"Uh, no, I'm fine," Peter objected, holding his hands up defensively. "You don't need t-"

"-so, anyways, a three-key encryption is similar to a two-key encryption, but it incorporates parts of a dual protocol encryption-"

Tony suppressed a grin as Peter sighed and started to listen. Maybe if he just thought about something else at the forefront of his mind for a little while, the answer to the energy emission problem would come to him.

His subconscious could be smarter than his conscious self sometimes, after all.

* * *

Peter took a quick breath and placed his hands lightly on the keyboard. He was in one of New York's public libraries, well away from any of his usual haunts. This particular library permitted use of their computers with relatively little restrictions, which was perfect for Peter's little hacking project.

Peter was sitting in his own little cubicle, which would lessen the chances of someone happening to notice what he was doing. Though he doubted anyone would understand what he was doing, better safe than sorry.

Using his own computer would spell disaster should he be detected. Peter really didn't want to caught. If he were rich, he would buy a laptop and dispose of it once he was finished with it. Unfortunately, he wasn't rich.

Peter supposed that he could've asked Tony to borrow a computer, but that might be pushing it. Then again, Tony wasn't exactly in any position to let him borrow a computer at the moment.

But whatever. He was here, and he could do it. And if all went well, his precautions would all be for naught.

Peter knew what he had to do. He had gone over it in his head a million times. His hands flew over the keyboard. He made sure that he was being cautious enough. While Peter knew that he needed to do this as quickly as possible in order to minimize the chance of detection, racing through it and making a mistake or two would definitely cause him to be detected.

Peter concentrated on the computer, background noise fading into nothing. He doubted that he would've even noticed someone yelling his name.

After a while, he leaned back on the plastic chair he sat in and let out a breath of relief. He had gotten in, somehow. Peter didn't allow himself much of a break, however. He was still on a time limit- there was a distinct possibility that someone would discover his hacking and raise the alarm.

"Now..." Peter murmured to himself. "Where to start?"

He had the entirety of OsCorp's databases at his fingertips. Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be an obvious search function, but there had to be one. A company like OsCorp needed things to be done quickly and thoroughly, and that centred around a good database.

Peter discovered the search function nestled in a corner after giving the page more than a cursory glance. He hesitated before typing in 'Richard Parker'. Should he be discovered, he didn't want OsCorp to know exactly what he was after.

Inwardly groaning at all the extra time this was taking, he took a few minutes to secure his access and to set up some dummy searches. If the OsCorp technicians were really thorough, they might discover what he was actually looking at, but most likely, they would find the dummy searches and leave it at that.

Finally feeling safe enough to search up what he needed, he typed in 'Richard Parker' into the search bar. The results showed up almost instantaneously.

Peter quickly scanned them. There didn't seem to be any information directly about Richard, but maybe he could find more from Dr. Connors' page.

Peter skipped over the stuff that he already knew, like information about the Lizard incident from last year. Guilt stabbed at him, but he pushed it back and scrolled down.

There it was.

_Dr. Connors first decided to work with gene splicing when his now-former partner, Dr. Richard Parker, noticed the potential good that it could do for the human race. Dr. Parker was a part-time OsCorp employee, who tragically died in a plane accident in 2001. He also worked as a liaison for the small company Advanced Idea Mechanics. [more information may be found in OsCorp's paper archives]_.

Peter took a picture of the few sentences on Richard Parker, just in case he forgot. He then carefully erased as much of his actual searches as possible before logging out. He also spent a little over half an hour erasing what he had done from the library computer.

(He had, after all, technically committed a crime. But it wasn't as if he had done anything to OsCorp. He just wanted information.)

Peter walked out of the library, heading home. He let out a groan.

As he had no plans to break into OsCorp's paper archives, he wouldn't be getting any more information from that route.

But at least he had gotten a name. Advanced Idea Mechanics. Peter had known that Richard had been working two companies at once because of a non-cashed in pay check addressed to Richard he had discovered. The name of the sender had been unfortunately too water-stained to read, but Peter could tell that it didn't say OsCorp, or any variation thereof. The information he had discovered in OsCorp's database simply had brought him one step further to his goal.

He had another lead, and he would follow it the best he could.

* * *

**I'm kinda jealous of those of you who've already gotten to see Iron Man 3. I mean, I wish America would make up its mind about how to treat us. **

**On one hand, it's: 'American Netflix? Ha ha, no, you can use Canadian Netflix, which doesn't have Supernatural or anything!'**

**But then it's: 'Iron Man 3 released on April 25th? Ha ha, no, you'll get to see it May 3rd like us.'**

**As always, please point out any typos/spelling/grammatical errors should you see them. **


	4. Screw the Doctors

**I apologize for the later-than-usual chapter. See, I watched Iron Man 3 (it was awesome) and after the post-IM3 bliss wore off, I realized that the movie had used AIM and it probably wouldn't be the best idea to have my AIM differ from IM3!AIM too much. So I had to edit my story plan a bit. I also changed 'Accelerated Industries' from the last chapter to Advanced Idea Mechanics, as it should be. **

**But while this AIM will take _some_ elements from the movie, it still will be different, as some things I can't and don't want to change at this point.**

* * *

Chapter 3: Screw The Doctors

* * *

Tony flicked a finger over the tablet in front of him, scrapping a blueprint. It would be too bulky, and only had a sixty-two percent chance of successfully masking the energy emission output of the suit.

He sighed gustily.

It had been a few days since he had woken up at the SHIELD medical facility. The second day, the SHIELD medical personnel had reluctantly allowed him the use of his tablet after he had started fiddling around with the medical equipment in his boredom.

Tony hadn't fiddled with anything essential to his continued survival, of course. He wasn't stupid.

Still, a tablet wasn't nearly as good as the holograms back in the Tower. Luckily, he was steadily getting better, and he was certain that in a day or so, he would be healthy enough to walk himself out the facility and to the Tower.

Tony opened a new blueprint file; it was the eighth he had started. He was getting closer to the answer, but he was still not close enough.

He stared at the blue screen, willing a new idea to come to him.

A knock sounded on his room's door, interrupting his concentration. Tony looked up reluctantly.

"You can come in," Tony said, the undertones of a grumble in his voice. It was likely one of the medical personnel, wanting to do yet another inane test to see how injured he was.

The door swung open silently, revealing someone a bit too tall and muscled to just be one of the medical personnel.

"Steve!" Tony greeted, grinning. Steve, with his accelerated healing and not as serious injuries, had gotten out of the hospital the day before. Inwardly, he noted Steve's displeased expression and annoyed demeanour with a silent groan. "What brings you to my humble abode?"

"We need to talk," Steve said frankly.

"I'd probably be more worried about this if we were dating," Tony shot flippantly.

Steve ignored Tony's comment, as he was wont to do.

"It's about Peter," Steve continued, his arms crossing.

"Oh, great, Peter." Tony grumbled. He rolled his eyes. "Trust me, I'm in no mood for another lecture, and what we do is none of your business. I don't need to 'take responsibility', as you put it, because he doesn't want it. He doesn't want me to take responsibility because he already had a good father figure and doesn't need someone else butting in. Anything else?"

"Not that." Steve shook his head. "I'm talking about how you helped him hack into a company."

"Oh. That." Tony scowled. "How'd you find out?"

"Peter was talking to Bruce about it," Steve replied. He pinned Tony with a disappointed look. "Why would you help him do that? By all rights, I should report him."

"But you won't?" Tony said, voicing his statement as a question. He was relatively sure that Steve would stay mum, but you never knew.

"Why?" Steve repeated, sidestepping the question.

Tony sighed. Obviously, he wasn't getting any answers until he gave some.

"I've mentioned how Peter had his own father figure, right?" Tony said, leaning back on the bed. He waited for a nod from Steve before continuing. "I'm talking about Ben Parker, Peter's uncle. Hell knows Peter looks up to him enough. I'm not, in any way, talking about Richard Parker."

Steve stayed quiet, likely confused but willing to wait for Tony to explain himself.

"Richard Parker..." Tony scoffed derisively. "He was a former SHIELD biologist. When he quit, he moved onto OsCorp- and another company, apparently. And when that other company said 'Hey! We kinda need you to do some tests on your kid. Could'ya do it?', he agreed."

Steve's eyes widened in horror.

Tony gritted his teeth, forcing his voice to stay level. He was pissed at Richard, really pissed, even though he knew that it was probably not a good idea to be mad at the dead. As far as Richard had known, Peter had been his kid, and he should've treated him as such. While Tony wasn't exactly familiar with good parenting, he knew well enough that 'experimentation' wasn't part of it. If Tony had raise-

- Nope. No. He wasn't going to think of 'what if' scenarios. That was a road best not taken. Peter was a good kid that was not related to him in _any way _and this anger was just a normal reaction to hearing about Richard.

"So, Peter's spidey powers are the result of a little experimentation, not just because of a genetically modified spider's bite," Tony said flippantly. He snorted in derision. "With the guy who should've been his father being a douche who experimented on him, and his biological father being, well, me, I say that it's a good thing that this Ben was around."

"So then, the reason why Peter..." Steve trailed off, an understanding look on his face.

"The company he hacked into was OsCorp. He hoped that there would be info on Richard Parker- and his motives," Tony explained, nodding. "I don't know if there was any information yet, though. He hasn't visited."

Tony narrowed his eyes at Steve.

"Tell me, Steve, would you have stopped him from trying to figure out why the man who should've been his father had decided to do human experimentation on his two-year-old self?"

Steve rubbed his forehead, his gaze falling to the ground.

"Fine," Steve said shortly, his hand falling from his forehead. "I see it your way. But I still think that there were better ways. What if Peter starts to hack into things on a whim, not when it's really, completely necessary?"

"What, you mean if he becomes like me?" Tony smirked. "I don't really see the problem with wanton hacking- as long as you don't get caught- but trust me when I say Peter wouldn't do that. He's not that type of person."

Steve hummed, a doubtful note to the sound.

"Look, why do _I_ have to be the good role model?" Tony complained. "If you're that concerned with me being a corrupting influence or whatever, be an opposing influence yourself. You're Captain America. Should be easy enough."

"Maybe I will," Steve shot back.

Tony whistled in surprise. "Really? Well, that's convenient, I guess. By the way, Peter thinks you hate him."

"Pardon?" Steve said dumbly. He frowned, his brow furrowing. "I don't- but I suppose maybe he would think-"

"Au revoir then, Steve, if you're done." Tony picked up his tablet. He had thought up a few ways he could greatly improve the success rate of the device sometime during their conversation. "Sorry, but I want to get a viable blueprint ready for when I go back to the Tower tomorrow."

"The doctors-"

"_Screw_ the doctors, Steve," Tony said sharply. "We don't know who sent those robots just yet, but if I don't figure out a way to block their attack, I can't fight and your shield will be useless. We don't know when or where something else with this tech will appear, and I need to finish this device before then. Capisce?"

Steve, to Tony's relief, didn't argue further.

"Okay," he said simply. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Good." Tony grumbled, turning his attention back to his tablet. He barely noticed as Steve left.

* * *

"It's been a while since we've sat down and had dinner together, hasn't it?" Norman said, a bland smile on his face.

Harry has no interest in this petty small talk, but he nodded and smiled anyways. He took a bite of the steak in front of him. The food was good, at least.

"How are you doing in school?" Norman asked, presumably because he couldn't think of anything else to say.

Understandable, really. Harry doubted that his father even knew what type of music he liked to listen to.

"Good, I suppose," Harry answered shortly.

"Midtown Science is supposed to have one of the best science programs out there," Norman noted.

"I've only been there for a few days. I wouldn't know just yet," Harry said diplomatically.

"I suppose public school is a big change for you," Norman commented. "How are your fellow students?"

Harry shrugged. "Fine, I guess."

"Well, I left a thousand dollars in your bank account," Norman continued. "That should be enough money to go... hang out with students you befriend at school, or whatever adolescents do nowadays."

"Thanks," Harry said simply.

An awkward silence permeated the air. Harry had no interest in bringing up any possible conversation topics, and Norman had apparently already exhausted his meager repertoire of conversation starters.

"I am your father, Harry, and I do care for you," Norman said carefully. "My malady may have made it difficult to be... there for you... but that is no longer a problem."

Harry held back a groan at the sound of Norman's words. He had hoped that he wouldn't have to talk for the rest of dinner, let alone about crap like that.

Luckily, at that moment, he was saved from having to respond to Norman's statement. Perhaps God hadn't abandoned him after all.

"Mr. Osborn?" Bernard said, nervously standing in the doorway of the dining room. He was holding a phone in his right hand. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but this seems urgent. There may have been a security breach at OsCorp."

Norman scowled as he got up from the table, chair loudly scraping the floor. "I'm sorry, Harry, but I have to deal with this. Bernard, give me the phone."

Harry didn't bother with a farewell, given that Norman was already out the door before he could even open his mouth.

"Father of the year, seriously," Harry muttered to himself. He stuffed a forkful of carrots into his mouth ill-temperedly.

* * *

Osborn stormed into the tech department of OsCorp Tower, his fists clenching and unclenching systematically. He grabbed the first unfortunate employee that he spotted by the collar.

"Tell me, what am I paying you for?" Osborn growled. The employee in his hand gulped audibly, his face paling further by the second. "Because I don't think it was to let my company's database get i_hacked_/i!"

"That is, I-I'm afraid th-that, um," the employee stammered out. His mouth clenched shut at the sight of Osborn's darkening face.

"It's not his department, Mr. Osborn," another employee said smoothly, walking up to Osborn. "He isn't in charge of firewalls."

"Then who do I have to blame for this?" Osborn snapped, letting go of the first employee's collar. "You, I presume?"

"You must understand, Mr. Osborn, that our firewalls are top-of-the-line," the other employee placated. "They could almost contest the government's security. In order to break past it, well, the hacker must've been either a genius or on the inside."

"Are you saying that we have a mole?" Osborn demanded, a dangerous glint in his eye.

"I'm saying it's a possibility," the employee corrected. "We don't know for certain."

"I don't care about that, understood? Just find out who it is, and quickly," Osborn hissed. "Unless you want to lose your job, of course."

"Well, the thing is, Mr. Osborn, it's not that easy," the employee said delicately. "The problem is, we have no idea when the hacker broke in. We may be able to find the origin, with enough time, but we doubt that the hacker would be stupid enough not to do a job in a public place. Without the appropriate timeframe, it may be nigh impossible to-"

"-why can't you figure out when the hacker broke in?" Osborn cut in.

"We only know that a hacker hacked into the database because of our biweekly check of the firewalls today," the employee explained. "We know that the hacker must've hacked in sometime during the past two weeks, but nothing else."

"Why would you only check once every two weeks?" Osborn growled.

"It's very time consuming, and our firewalls were very good..." the employee trailed off.

"From now on, check everyday. You may have forgotten, but our top competitor is led by a man lauded as one of the top geniuses of the decade," Osborn snapped, his eyes flashing.

"We don't think it was Stark Industries that hacked us." the employee was quick to refute Osborn's theory. "The files we think the hacker accessed don't lend credence to that theory, and we don't think that SI would want to hack OsCorp anyways."

"You're treading on thin ground," Osborn said coldly. "Explain."

"Mr. Osborn, the hacker seemed to have looked at the files on you and your son," the employee said hastily. "If a competitor had hacked in, they would have no motive to access those files; they would hightail it to the files on our newest projects."

Osborn schooled his face into neutrality at the news. No need for his employees to talk.

"You have a month," Osborn said, his voice revealing nothing of his inner thoughts. "One month to find the hacker, or you and everyone involved with OsCorp's security is fired."

The employee gave Osborn a curt nod. "Understood. But, Mr. Osborn, we may need more employees to tackle both the daily verification of the firewalls and the search for the hacker."

"I'll supply them," Osborn said, waving a hand dismissively. "Keep in mind they might replace you if you don't do well."

"Of course. I'll get us all started right now," the employee said. He headed into the middle of the room and started to give some orders.

Osborn didn't bother to stay. He knew that his threat would be enough to motivate his employees to work properly. He strode out of the room, gritting his teeth.

It was them, he knew it. Who else would even _try_? Who else would have the skill? They wanted something to hold over him, but he wouldn't let them.

But he couldn't use the serum just yet. Not until it was properly tested. Until it was, however, he still had other things he could do to retaliate. And retaliate he would.

* * *

**I would've had this up yesterday, but I was in a semi-catatonic state after the dual cliffhangers of the Supernatural and Arrow finales. XD**

**Anywho, ********I promise to publish the next chapter faster. :)**


	5. Than He Would Ever Show

**Hello, everyone. This chapter's a bit slow (but necessary, I assure you) so here's a little basic (non-spoilerish) info for what's gonna happen to stop people from giving up on this story:**

**I'm currently debating whether or not the Clint confrontation scene would fit better nearer to the end of the story or next chapter, so you may or may not see the blowout of the Prelude next chapter. Either way, yes, there will be a scene with Steve and Peter next chapter, so you can look forwards to that. **

**Next, next chapter, ACTION commences. Or maybe next chapter. My chapter plan is all messed up because of I had to edit it. This is heavily tied in with the PLOT. It will be the 'beginning of the end', though this story will probably last for at least 8-12-odd chapters after that chapter, because I like PLOT. And I hope you'll like it too. And yes, there will be more Tony/Peter kinda family feels-like-things nearer to the end. **

**Fair warning, however- my goal is to make this story realistic (okay, as realistic as this sort of story can be) and so there will not be the sort of saccharine sweet heavy fluff that you see in Superfamily drabbles. Or really, fluff at all, considering the fact that fluff is defined as stuff unrelated to plot.**

* * *

Chapter 4: Than He Would Ever Show

* * *

Peter ran his hand through his hair, frustrated. He sat on a plastic chair in Midtown Science's cafeteria, a sandwich clenched in his hand.

Advanced Idea Mechanics was an originally very small company that had steadily grown in size over the years, making it rather large today.

Maybe AIM had been involved in some shady business fifteen years ago, but now, it seemed as above board as you could get. But even then, fifteen years ago, AIM had been a tiny company- Peter doubted it would even have the money to fund a genetic experimental project. In fact, Peter was surprised that OsCorp had even worked with AIM- but he supposed that maybe Richard had been good enough that OsCorp had wanted his skills, in no matter what form.

Maybe his mother had gotten it wrong. Maybe Richard hadn't been involved in 'shady stuff'. Maybe Richard had just been a crazy biologist who needed to experiment on something or someone to move his work forwards, and Peter had been convenient.

Maybe, maybe, maybe. He had no concrete facts.

Peter took a vicious bite out of his turkey sandwich.

A light laugh hit his ears.

"What did that sandwich do to you, Peter?"

Peter looked up, meeting Gwen's eyes. She smiled before sliding into the seat next to him.

"Nothing, nothing," Peter hurriedly said. "I'm just... really hungry."

Gwen frowned, a disapproving look in her eyes. "That's not going to fly with me- you know that. What's really the matter?"

She glanced right and left before leaning in and whispering a few words.

"Is it about your side job?"

"Kinda," Peter replied evasively. "Don't worry, Gwen. It's nothing that important."

Gwen stared at Peter for a few moments more, clearly wanting him to elaborate. Eventually, she sighed and let it go.

"So, are you planning to go to Harry Osborn's all-out party this Saturday?" Gwen asked, her eyebrow raised. A small smile twitched onto her face.

"Very funny, Gwen," Peter deadpanned, taking another bite of his sandwich. "No. Putting aside the fact that parties aren't really my thing, do you really think that I want anything to do with Osborn's popularity stunt?"

"You're right. I didn't really think you would want to go," Gwen admitted. "But I had to ask, just in case."

"You aren't going, are you?" Peter asked, shooting a questioning glance at Gwen.

"I wouldn't mind going to a party once in a while." Gwen shrugged. "But I don't want to pretend to be friends with someone just because of it. I would never stoop that low."

"Yeah, there's that too. " Peter nodded at Harry, who was sitting across the cafeteria, surrounded by a number of the 'popular kids'. A blonde laughed shrilly at something Harry had said. "Don't wanna be like them."

"I feel a bit sorry for him," Gwen murmured, watching the scene with Peter.

"What? For him using his money to get 'friends'?" Peter demanded.

"No, Peter." Gwen rolled her eyes. "For not knowing how."

"I don't know." Peter raised an eyebrow. "I think he's just being lazy. You might be being slightly too idealistic there."

"Well, if you were the son of a multimillionaire, I'm sure that you would've been like that too," Gwen insisted.

Peter snorted; partially at the idea of being like Harry, and partially because of Gwen unwittingly using a hypothetical that wasn't a hypothetical. "Maybe if I had been raised as one, I guess."

"Still, I suppose you're right." Gwen sighed. "It doesn't change the fact that he's..."

"Conceited? Stuck up? Elitist?" Peter suggested cheerfully. "A jerk who thinks telling stories about the school's resident loner is a good idea?"

"What'd he say?" Gwen asked, a displeased glint in her eyes.

"Well, I've heard worse, I suppose," Peter said reluctantly. "But he did claim that I had went and talked to him because I was- and I quote- 'desperate for friends'. Really. I talked to the guy once, and he has to make up excuses as to why he was talking with me to his new 'friends'. Real nice guy there."

Gwen shot a fierce glare towards Harry. Though both Gwen and Peter were much too far away to be seen with any clarity, Peter could see that Harry shuddered suddenly.

"I understand why you don't like him, I guess," Gwen said, crossing her arms. "If he says something like that in front of me, I'll punch his face."

Peter laughed loudly. "I'm flattered, Gwen."

"You should be," Gwen said in a solemn tone, before breaking out into laughter as well.

Being accused of being desperate for friends annoyed Peter more than he would ever show.

(It hurt Peter more than he would ever show.)

But with Gwen, he could forget about all of that.

And for that, he was glad.

* * *

Tony strode into one of Stark Tower's many meeting rooms, a confident smirk on his face. It had been a little less than a day since he had deemed himself healed, and had checked himself out of the hospital. While the Avengers had already had a debriefing about the robot incident, new information had apparently come in. Tony would've hacked into SHIELD to find out what exactly this information was, but he had figured that it would be a waste of time. After all, he would know what was up soon enough.

The room was a slightly stuffy place, with concrete walls covered with a thin layer of wallpaper. A large table was set up in the middle of the room, plush black chairs around it. Personally, Tony preferred his bright airy meeting rooms, but Coulson had insisted that this type of room was more secure.

The rest of the Avengers and Coulson were already in the room. Tony promptly collapsed in a spare seat on the opposite side of Steve. He shot a crooked grin at Steve, who just frowned. Tony supposed that he was unhappy that he had been a bit late.

"Now that Mr. Stark is here, we can commence the meeting," Coulson said smoothly, standing up from his seat at the head of the table. He rustled around in his black suitcase for a moment before retrieving some piece of metal encased in a plastic bag. Coulson placed this item on the table.

Tony leaned in, examining the metal piece. There didn't appear to be anything unusual about it, though it appeared to be from the robots that they had fought.

"Earlier today, SHIELD divers discovered this scrap of metal in the East River," Coulson explained. He flipped around the metal, revealing a vaguely familiar mark stamped in yellow paint.

Tony heard Steve let out a sharp breath, and looked up. The Captain's face seemed paler than usual, and his expression was rather cold.

"HYDRA," Steve said shortly and curtly, the word stated as a fact and not a question.

Coulson nodded in response.

Tony took a moment to process the name before he recalled where he had heard it before. HYDRA. Of course. The spin-off organization of the Nazis, and Steve's primary target during his time in the war. If Tony remembered correctly, Steve had been frozen while stopping another one of their diabolical plans.

"That can't be right. HYDRA disappeared years ago," Tony muttered. "I guess that it could've started up again, but couldn't it be some mook using HYDRA's old tech?"

"You obviously hacked into SHIELD's database, Stark," Clint snarked. His face seemed more pinched than usual. Either HYDRA was a touchy subject for him, or something unpleasant had happened to him before the meeting. "You're telling me that HYDRA had tech like that when it disbanded a few years ago?"

"It would be best to accept the worst case scenario," Natasha said calmly, too calmly. "HYDRA is back."

"It's still possible that it's another organization using HYDRA's logo to garner attention," Bruce pointed out.

"What is this HYDRA you speak of?" Thor demanded, in his typically loud way.

"An organization bent on taking over the world," Steve said grimly. "I fought them back during the war. I thought that they had disappeared for good after I defeated their leader, the Red Skull, but are you saying that they came back?"

"A few years after the Red Skull was destroyed, I'm afraid," Natasha said coldly. "They were forcibly disbanded a number of years back though. And now seem to be back again. HYDRA does live up to its name."

Cut off one head, two more grow back. Of course.

"So this HYDRA is the enemy of the good Captain?" Thor clarified.

"Not just me." Steve shook his head, a dark look in his eyes. "HYDRA is _everyone'_s enemy."

"Anyhow!" Tony said loudly, cutting into the conversation. "HYDRA or not, the point is that there's someone out there with the technology to decommission my suit. And the next time that tech pops up, it might be being used for something more nefarious than the attempted destruction of a New York landmark."

"If you can't keep your suit from being shorted out, then you're too much of a liability to go out on missions," Coulson informed Tony.

"It's a lot more complicated than being 'shorted out', Agent," Tony retorted. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "But I'm already way ahead of you. You must've missed the 'genius' part of my file. I've already got a prototype counter-tech done. It's just a matter of configuring it to my suit and-"

Tony was cut off by Clint's loud groan. Tony rolled his eyes before continuing.

"-and apparently some people don't understand my genius and don't want to listen to my explanation of how the things I make work, which is totally fine, but just wait, Barton, because next time you ask for a new set arrow set, I'm going to-"

"That's enough, Stark," Coulson cut in, his hand rubbing against his forehead in a soothing manner. "So your suit won't be shor- decommissioned again?"

"No siree," Tony replied confidently. "But Steve, I'm gonna have to take a look at your shield if you want to make sure it won't be affected by that tech."

"Fine," Steve said reluctantly, a sigh escaping his lips afterwards. "I suppose I shouldn't bother asking why both my shield and your suit were affected by that blast of electricity?"

"Yeah, that'd probably be for the best." Tony nodded, grinning. He turned his gaze back towards Coulson. "So, Agent, anything else you wanna add? Should we be keeping an eye out for HYDRA?"

"Of course," Coulson said simply. "SHIELD will be conducting a full investigation into this matter. We will inform you of any pertinent details."

Tony made a mental note to hack into SHIELD to see how far they had gotten in the investigation, because hell knows that they were incapable of telling the complete and whole truth.

"If that's all, I've got a suit to modify," Tony said, pushing his chair back and getting up from the table. He gave a little wave to his fellow Avengers as he backed out the door. "Toodle-oo."

* * *

**This chapter would've been longer, but I'm sure you guys all know what time of year it is. I wouldn't have uploaded this, but I felt you guys needed an update so you didn't think I was dead.**

**Make sure to point out any mistakes, as I only gave this chapter a cursory glance before publishing it.**

** I swear, updates will be better once I'm done with all my tests and it's summer. Promise. Pinky swear. **


	6. I'm My Own Person

**Summer has commenced! Unfortunately, my provincial exam results have still not come back, but it's not like it'd make a difference if I sat at the computer waiting for them. So here you go, new chapter.**

**I'll do my best to finish up this story within the summer.**

* * *

Chapter 5: I'm My Own Person

* * *

The thing was, Peter didn't hate Captain America. Not at all, actually.

He was _Captain America. _Peter grew up reading his comics, learning all about the exploits of the super solider during World War 2. The Captain would've had to be a pretty big jerk for Peter to even _dislike _him.

And hell, Steve Rogers seemed like a pretty decent guy. A bit old-fashioned, yeah, but he was from the forties. It'd be weirder if he weren't.

The problem was always that dear old Cap didn't like the idea of a teenager going superheroing- or so Peter had thought. Tony had blown that idea out of the water. If Tony said that Captain America didn't hate him, then Peter was going to believe him. Peter couldn't see the point in lying about something like this.

That being said, even if Captain America didn't _hate _him, it was obviously to anyone with eyes that Cap wasn't exactly comfortable with him. It had been that way from the very start, and things hadn't really changed after Clint had been a basta- had annoyingly revealed the Tony thing, so Peter knew it didn't have anything to do with that.

Anyways, the point was, he had no desire to approach Cap and start upa conversation, or whatever it was that Tony wanted him to do. The last thing he wanted to do was have an awkward talk with the Captain about say, the weather.

'Course, as always, the universe didn't care one bit about his wishes.

Tony had just told Peter, in no uncertain terms, to stay as far away as he could from an organization called HYDRA that may or may not have restarted recently. Peter had reluctantly given his agreement, but he had no plans to stay away from the fighting should he get the chance. He was a superhero, damn his age, and he wouldn't sit back and do nothing. He had his superpowers, and he needed to use them.

It had been when Peter was about to head back home when Captain America had called out to him.

"Hello, um, Peter?"

A sigh escaped Peter's mouth. Adjusting the backpack slung over his left shoulder, he stepped away from Stark Tower's elevator and craned his head towards the sound of the voice.

"Yeah, Captain?" Peter replied, sardonically smiling. "Did you want something?"

Cap shifted from one foot to another for a moment_. _He then rubbed the back of head, before sighing.

"Not in particular," the Captain said hesitantly.

Feeling unexpectedly courageous, Peter cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Well, then can I go then?"

"I was just…" Cap let out another sigh before continuing. "I heard that you hacked into a company."

With difficulty, Peter held back a groan. He turned around completely, facing Captain America full-on. He probably wouldn't be able to leave anytime soon.

(Would the Captain be insulted if he plopped himself on the floor?)

Maybe something of his feelings appeared on Peter's face, because the Captain's next move was to put up his hands defensively.

"I'm not going to lecture you about how you shouldn't have done that," Cap reassured him. His eyes flicked towards the ground, then returned to Peter. "Tony told about why you did it."

Peter stiffed involuntarily. Tony had _no right. _It was his business, his alone. He had only told Tony about his favourite not-father's experimentation because he had accidentally let it slip, sure. But he had still told him, and he didn't want it to be common knowledge, like the fact that Tony was his bio-

-Nope, not thinking about that.

(Was no one in the Avengers capable of keeping a secret?)

Peter clenched his fingers into a fist and slowly let out a breath.

"Okay," Peter said carefully. "Okay. Are you trying to 'talk about it' or something? Because one, there's nothing to talk about, and two, I wouldn't talk about it with you."

A frown tugged at the Captain's mouth, and Peter briefly felt guilty. It wasn't the Captain he was pissed at.

"Tony isn't the best role model sometimes, and I know that he might have convinced you-"

"- Oh, what, so you're saying that you're a better role model?" Peter's eyes flashed. He scowled. "Okay, yeah, that may be true. But it's my, freaking, decision who I hang out with. And for your information, Tony didn't convince me to do anything. I decided it myself."

Peter flipped around and stormed to the door.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

The elevator was in this room, but there was a staircase that he could use to get to a lower floor's elevator. He didn't want to stay and have to deal with Captain America's higher-than-you statements as he waited for the elevator to come up.

At the door, Peter paused and looked back. Captain America's words petered off.

"I can make my 'bad' decisions for myself, thank you very much," Peter informed the Captain. "Because I'm _my own person_, and you know what? It's been my aunt and my- my uncle who've raised me for the majority of my life. So don't you dare think that just because I've been talking to Tony, just because- just because he's my biological father, that anything I do that may be considered 'bad' has something to do with him."

"I didn't say-"

Peter didn't stop to listen to Captain America's words, instead choosing to stride out of the door. The moment Peter felt as though he was far enough away, he collapsed against a wall and let out a slightly hysterical laugh.

(Oh god. He just told off _Captain America._)

Peter rubbed one of his hands on his forehead, groaning.

"Well," Peter muttered to himself. "If he didn't before, I'm pretty sure that he hates me now."

* * *

Peter's plastic chair creaked as he leaned against. He didn't bother to hold back a groan as the idiot next to him started to talk.

"Oxygen has a charge of negative two... so if it's paired with calcium in an ionic bond, then the formula would be..." Peter watched in the corner of his eye as Harry scratched his head and groaned. "O2Ca2?"

"Sounds right!" the girl sitting beside Harry chirped, a false smile on her face.

Peter, who was sitting on the other side of Harry, resisted the urge to slam his head onto the table. It was Chemistry, and the teacher had had the lovely idea of assigning seats by alphabetical order. As 'P' came right after 'O' in the alphabet, Peter had the very dubious honour of sitting next to the famous Harry Osborn.

After weeks of the same idiocy, Peter was reaching his limit. It didn't help that everyone else around Harry either ignored him or cozied up to him for money. Peter would love to just ignore him, but unfortunately, the elementary mistakes that Harry kept on making got on his nerves like nothing else.

Luckily, he only had one class with Harry Osborn, or things would be worse than they were already. Peter doubted that he was any smarter in his other classes.

Gwen wasn't in Chem with him this year, so he couldn't count on her for help. They hadn't been really hanging out lately either, which was something Peter wanted to rectify as soon as possible. Maybe they could go see that new Superman movie together? Sure, it sounded kinda 'date-y', but it wouldn't be if they didn't call it one, after all.

Things weren't going that great on his superhero side of life either. Captain America hadn't started to hate him or anything after his little rant. In fact, for some reason, he seemed to be trying to search Peter out whenever he visited the Tower. Peter happily used it as an excuse to Tony and Clint as to why he was staying away from the Tower for a bit.

(Peter really didn't want to analyse why he _needed _an excuse in the first place.)

The point was, Peter was really reaching the end of his patience. Slamming his chair back onto the tiled floor, he shot a glare at Harry.

"It's CaO," Peter muttered, gritting his teeth.

Harry looked up towards Peter, a surprised look on his face.

"What?"

"I said that the answer's CaO, not…" Peter's eyes rolled up to the ceiling in exasperation. "…O2Ca2. We learned this last year. Gasses go second, and you have to remember to use ratios when it comes to ionic compounds."

"Oh," Harry said dumbly, before regaining his composure. He erased the answer that he had written on his sheet with what Peter had told him. "Well, thanks."

"Peter's a super-nerd, so of course he would know." the girl near Harry giggled, a sneer in her voice.

Harry looked at Peter appraisingly. Peter inwardly rolled his eyes and went back to his work- or well, he tried to before he remembered he had already finished. He wished that he could use his phone or something, but the last time Peter had tried that, the teacher had snatched it away.

"Hey, I'm having a party on Saturday," Harry started, an easy smile on his face. "Would you like to-"

"-Again? You'd think that you'd get bored of having so many." Peter interrupted. He flipped his worksheet around and started doodling. Maybe he could use this time to try to improve his webbing formula.

"Well?" Harry said impatiently, likely slightly annoyed at being snubbed.

"Answer's no."

His mouth twitched at Harry's flabbergasted expression. Hadn't he ever been turned down before?

"Um. Suit yourself, then." Harry shrugged in nonchalance. Peter couldn't tell if he was acting or not. Harry picked up his pencil again and tapped it on his worksheet, staring at it intently. Peter snuck a peek at his answers and sighed. They were nearly all wrong.

"Look, don't get me wrong," Peter muttered to Harry, leaning in. He didn't feel the need to broadcast his words to the class. "It's not like I particularly like you or anything, but seeing a worksheet like yours practically makes me physically sick. If I help, will you stop saying stupid things in class?"

Harry glanced up to Peter, then glanced back down to his sheet. He bit his lip, considering Peter's offer, before sighing through his nose.

"Fine," Harry muttered back.

Peter inwardly cheered. Maybe now he would be able to get through a class without having to listen to idiocies.

"Right then," Peter said cheerfully. "Let's start with this first question. Do you even _know_ what a polyvalent metal is? Man, either your teachers sucked or you just didn't try."

Taking his revenge for the 'desperate for friends' remark was just bonus, of course.

* * *

Mendel Stromm jumped out of his chair, the latter clattering to the ground.

"You can't do this," Stromm hissed, glaring at Osborn, who sat across from him behind a desk. "You wouldn't dare."

Osborn let out a long-suffering sigh. His eyes wandered to the ceiling for a moment before going back to Stromm.

"You've been embezzling funds from the company, Stromm," Osborn explained with an insincere smile. "It pains me to have to ask you to leave like this, but I'm afraid that it's my duty as CEO."

"I know things about you that could put you into jail for years," Stromm growled, jabbing a finger at Osborn. "So why don't you rethink your decision?"

Osborn clucked his tongue, shaking his head. "Tell me, Stromm, are you aware of how many years in jail embezzlement can get you? I'm sure you would've looked it up. With the amount you embezzled..."

Stromm faltered. His arm fell back to his side.

"So that's the way it is then," Stromm muttered, scowling.

"Consider this a favour," Osborn informed Stromm. "I expect to have your... resignation... on my desk by tomorrow."

"We both know that this isn't about the embezzling," Stromm said through gritted teeth. "You've wanted me out of the picture for ages."

"I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about," Osborn replied. He picked up some scattered papers on his desk and straightened them, the ends hitting his desk with a loud bang. "Remember, by tomorrow."

Not wanting to see Osborn's smug look for a moment longer, he turned around, pushed aside his chair, and headed to the door.

"Oh, and Stromm?"

"Yes?"

Stromm glanced back to Osborn.

"I'm sure I don't need to remind you why making any sort of... deal... with any law enforcement agencies would be a bad idea," Osborn said, a misleadingly serene smile on his face.

"No." Stromm shook his head, his teeth clenching. "No, you don't."

"Just making sure we're on the same page." Osborn waved Stromm away. "You can go now. I've got other things to do."

Stromm didn't bother saying anything more before striding out of the office, just barely containing his fury.

* * *

It was eight pm on the next day, and Stromm was in his lavish house. He sat on his bed, his head in his hands, just not knowing what to do.

The phone rang.

Stromm's hand snaked out to snatch the phone from his bedroom table.

"Yes?" he hissed.

"Is this Mr. Mendel Stromm?"

"Who is this?" Stromm demanded.

"We have something you need, and you have skills we want. What do you say we work together?"

"I'm hanging up," Stromm snapped.

"My name is Aldrich Killian. I'm the head of a company- AIM. You may have heard of it?"

Stromm blinked, once, twice. He pushed the phone closer to his ear.

"I'm listening."

* * *

**Next chappie will be up soon, so don't worry. For sure this time.**


	7. They Wouldn't See It Coming

**And now for the st****art of the action. Let's go!**

* * *

Chapter 6: They Wouldn't See It Coming

* * *

Peter walked into Tony's workshop, the door sliding shut behind him. With a vaguely irritated look on his face, he shoved his hands into his pockets. He scanned the large room for a little while before his eyes alighted onto Tony, who seemed to be messing around with some rectangular metal box.

"Hey, Tony," Peter said loudly, walking towards him with a hand raised in greeting.

Tony stopped fiddling with whatever was on his workbench for a moment to glance back at Peter and give him a curt nod, before returning to his work.

Peter felt a bit jilted, sure, but he was used to it by now. He didn't let it faze him. Letting out a quiet sigh, he found a little corner where he knew he wouldn't mess anything of Tony's up and hoped that Tony would finish relatively quickly.

Peter had just decided that he might as well try to make some upgrades on his web-shooters when Tony spoke up.

"Did you want something, Peter?" Tony asked suddenly. Peter heard a clatter as Tony threw his screwdriver on his table in frustration.

"Do you think that I'm too young?" Peter blurted out. Walking over, he pulled out a chair at a table near Tony and straddled it. He leaned in with some strange sense of anticipation.

Tony raised an eyebrow. "To go around superheroing?"

"Yeah." Peter nodded.

"Well then, yes," Tony replied bluntly. "I think we've had this conversation before. What made you bring it up again?"

"The dear old Captain told me that I really should rethink being a superhero earlier today," Peter answered, his teeth clenching slightly at the memory. "Because, and I quote, 'Peter, you're a nice kid, but you really shouldn't be doing this sorta thing all alone when you're not even through high school yet.'"

"Well, Steve does have a point." Tony shrugged. "He was a bit harsh about it, but what he said was more or less true."

Peter scowled. "Thanks a lot."

"But…" Tony sighed. "Look, I already know you're not gonna stop being a superhero unless SHIELD or something goes to extreme measures to make you stop. And frankly, it'd be too much of a pain to force you to stop myself. So I'll just give you a fortified costume, and otherwise do my best to make sure you don't die. I would also improve your web-shooters _if you would just let me._"

"No chance in hell, Tony," Peter said sweetly.

Tony's eyes rolled up to the ceiling. "What did I do to deserve this?"

"You want a list?"

"No, I'll do without one."

Peter grinned. He felt a tad less pissed off than he had before. But there was still one more thing that he really needed to bring up.

"Why'd you tell Cap about the experimentation? Richard's, I mean," Peter asked quietly, his eyes darting to the ground. His hands clenched onto the back of the chair. "I just… it's not something I want people to know, okay? I didn't even mean to tell you in the first place."

"He was all prepared to make you take responsibility for your actions, Petey." Tony smiled sardonically. "Without a decent reason, who knows whether or not he would've reported you to the police or something."

Peter nodded reluctantly. He rubbed the back of his head. "Fine, fine. I guess you had no choice. It's just that, I'm sick of my secrets being aired out to dry. I mean, first was Mr. Agent with the Spider-Man thing, then Clint with… with you-know-what, and it's just…"

"Woah, woah, I'm gonna stop you there," Tony said firmly, shaking his head. "I am not prepped to deal with teenage emotional angst. Please refer yourself to JARVIS, as he'd probably be better use than me."

Peter rolled his eyes and shoved down the frustration that threatened to well up in him. Of course Tony didn't care, he was Tony. Peter already knew that basically 99% of the reason Tony even bothered to hang out with him was his scientific know-how.

(It just hurt a bit to have it shoved in his face.)

Peter jolted in his seat as suddenly, a red light started flashing and an alarm went off.

"Alert?" Peter asked rhetorically.

"Yeah." Tony got up from his seat and ran his hand through his hair. He headed upstairs, towards his suit. "JARVIS, where's it at?"

"Fifth Avenue and East Fourteenth Street, sir," JARVIS replied. "It appears to be a supervillain sighting."

"I can-"

"-You stay here, Peter. Or home, or whatever," Tony said dismissively, pausing on the staircase for a moment. "We can deal with this."

Peter clenched his fists as he watched Tony leave.

Leave it? After what had happened last time? Fat chance.

He could probably make it to Fifth Avenue and East Fourteenth quick enough.

* * *

"This is… not good," Peter muttered to himself, swinging into the intersection. A dozen or so cars, including one long black limousine, were crashed into each other and buildings alike. Smack-dab in the middle of the intersection there was a medium sized crater, cracks spreading out from around it. It seemed as though people were hightailing it out of that danger zone. Peter shot a nervous look towards the surrounding high-rise office buildings, but luckily, they seemed stable enough. Peter hoped they stayed that way.

A dark frown made its way across Peter's face. Whoever had caused all the damage seemed to be gone, though for how long, he couldn't say. He swung down to street level and caught the arm of the calmest passer-by he could see.

"Hey, you-" Peter started.

"I didn't see anything!" the passer-by replied, jerking his arm out of Peter's grasp. Eyes wild, the passer-by raced down the street.

"Well," Peter murmured, rolling his eyes. "That worked out well."

The pedestrians were all avoiding him in favour of getting the hell out of the intersection. Normally, he would happily encourage this behavior, but at the moment, he really needed some info about the whereabouts of the supervillain who had caused this.

Suddenly, he felt an odd, tingling sensation in his head. His spider sense, it had to be. Was the supervillain still here or something? He thrust his hand out, his web shooting out and attaching itself to a nearby building. He was just barely in the air when a orange-coloured laser attacked the spot he had been standing in. Thankfully, no one had been in the immediate vicinity, having decided to keep away from the superhero.

(Lasers. Lovely. The only way this could be better is if it were bombs.)

Peter landed on the side of a glassy building. He squinted as the robot- at least, he thought it was a robot- lumbered out of the small road between two medium-sizde buildings. It was made of a dark metal, vaguely human-sized and shaped, and had one giant, orange, eye. An eye that was now facing him.

"I'm guessing that you shoot lasers out of that thing?" Peter swung down towards an adjacent building, wincing as an orange beam followed his movements. Once he landed, he let out another quip. "I think you're stealing Cyclops' style there. Hope it isn't copyrighted."

Peter spared a glance down. The streets were thankfully empty enough, though there were a few stragglers. He just hoped that the surrounding buildings were similarly emptied. Peter shot his web to another building, swinging down to the ground. As soon as his feet touched the concrete, he jumped back a few feet haphazardly. The laser missed him by inches.

After a few seconds, the laser stopped, presumably because it needed to recharge. Not one to let a chance slip past, Peter shoved his arms in front of him and let his webs fly to the robot's legs. With a grunt, he pulled his hands back, somehow managing to trip the robot onto the ground. It fell with a loud clang.

Peter made to close into the robot, only to be stopped by another orange beam. Only, this one definitely wasn't from the one on the ground.

"Oh, come on," Peter groaned, staring as the twenty-odd robots in the alleyway started to move forwards. "Seriously? What, were you waiting for the most dramatic moment to appear or something?"

He took a deep breath and leaped back a few feet more, aiming his webshooters to the first robot he could see. He was forced to rethink that plan as a dozen lasers flew out at him. Peter danced around the lasers, trying to close in. He wouldn't be able to take down this number of robots with his webshooters alone.

(This would be a _really _good time for the Avengers to appear.)

The lasers stopped.

"Of course, they have a recharging time," Peter muttered, his eyes narrowing. He shot a line of web to the robot in front, landing on its front. Grunting, he crawled on its back before shooting two splotches of web to its feet, keeping it in its place for the moment.

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," Peter hissed, watching as the robot attempted to break out of the webbing.

The other robots shot their lasers at the robot Peter was on, obviously trying and failing to hit Peter. This robot started to tremble ominously, an orange glow starting to seam out from its joints.

"That's my cue to split!" Peter laughed, jumping off the robot and shooting a line of web to a building. He landed on its brick wall. "Gotta love the crappy AI on these robots."

The robot finally gave out on staying together, and blew up in a surprisingly small explosion. Nevertheless, it still managed to heavily damage the robots directly behind it- robots that started to tremble in turn.

"Oh, this is gonna be bad," Peter breathed. He hadn't thought that the destruction of one robot would set off a chain reaction. His eyes moved to the side, just in time to spot the robots in the back looking straight at him. "And it just got worse."

Peter struggled to jump to the side, but he was a bit too slow. A laser nicked his side, burning up both his costume and his skin. Blood dripped out of the wound. He bit his tongue, forcing himself to ignore the pain, and scrambled up onto the building's roof. He spared a glance to his wound, and winced at the sight. Peter covered it with a shot of web. It would have to do for now.

He raced to the building's rooftop doorway. It was unlocked, and so Peter raced in.

"Anyone in here?!" Peter shouted. "If there is, you gotta get out of here! Fast!"

Peter let out a hiss as his wound sent a jolt of pain throughout his body. He stumbled, but recovered quickly and kept on running.

"Anyone in here?!" Peter repeated loudly. An explosion from outside made the building tremble precariously.

Peter dashed down the staircase, only spending a short time on each floor. Luckily, it was only a fourteen-floor building. Unluckily, it was a _fourteen-floor building._

(Seriously, Avengers, any time now.)

Another explosion, bigger this time, made the building shake. Peter really hoped that any people left in both this building and the building on the other side would be able to get out. He also really hoped that they would survive getting out.

His voice was getting hoarse, but he still shouted. It was his fault that the robots were exploding- though to be fair, they probably would've done more damage had he not been there. He needed to make sure that people were safe.

Peter finally heard a voice on the third floor.

"Me! I'm here, please, please, oh god, help me…"

It was a man's voice, low-pitched and panicked.

Peter made his way to the voice. In a short enough time, he arrived at a small room, an office. He entered the room and gave a cursory glance over the young man- in his twenties, probably- who was propping himself up by the wall, large shrapnel embedded one of his legs.

"What happened?" Peter asked in horror, before shaking his head. "No, that's not important right now. Look, I'm Spider-Man. I'll get you out of here, I promise."

"At this point-" the man allowed Peter to help him limp across the room. "- I don't really care, as long as I get out. Guess all this is karma for working in my own personal room, all alone."

Peter somehow managed to get them to the ground floor, and luckily enough, no one else appeared to be trapped. His vision was beginning to get spotted in places.

(_Any time now_.)

He gritted his teeth and pushed forwards. The building was starting to crumble around them, but there was only a few metres left. Peter didn't think that there could be any more robots left to explode, but knowing his luck-

One final explosion shook the building, and rubble started to fall in earnest.

"C'mon, just a bit farther," Peter encouraged the man, who nodded back jerkily.

With one final push, they managed to clear the doorway. The man looked as though he was going to fall down to the ground in relief, but they weren't out of the woods yet. Peter shook his head. He managed to force them across the street before the building completely collapsed, dust and spare bits of rubble flying every which way.

Peter collapsed to the ground, adrenaline his wound from earlier finally getting the better of him. He struggled to stay awake for a few moments, before giving up and letting himself succumb to sleep.

* * *

"Some use the Avengers are, you can't even-"

"- I assure you, we did what we could, but even we can't assemble if we don't know that something's happenin-"

"-Was it Stark then, some-"

"-Tony had nothing to do with your son being kidnapped-"

Coulson coughed loudly and waited for everyone to quiet down. The room they stood in was large enough, but it still wasn't quite big enough to comfortably fit Norman Osborn, his limousine driver, the police inspector, one Avenger, and of course Coulson.

It was a complete mess. From what Coulson could pierce together, earlier today, an unknown supervillain had attacked Harry Osborn's limousine and had destroyed a few blocks of New York. This supervillain had then spirited Harry Osborn away, sometime while the Avengers were still assembling. Soon after, a platoon of human-sized laser robots had appeared at various spots around the city. The Avengers had been distracted by these robots, and were unable to go to the original spot of the alert for a short while. When one of them, Hawkeye, managed to pull away from battle to get there, he discovered an unconscious Spider-Man.

Parker was now in the hospital, unconscious. Coulson hoped he would be able to shed some more light on the situation once he awoke, but for now, there was Norman Osborn.

Although this was a supervillain incident, it was also classified as a kidnapping, which is why everyone was gathered in an office of the police HQ. Norman Osborn would probably kick up a stink if SHIELD attempted to forcibly take control of the case anyways.

"Tell me, Mr. Osborn, do you know why a supervillain would want to target you or your son?" Coulson asked, clasping his hands behind his back. He smiled mildly and watched Osborn's face as he answered.

"No." Osborn hissed, glaring at Coulson. His eyes met Coulson's head on. But Osborn's hand snaked up to scratch his nose, absent-mindedly.

Likely a lie.

"Are you sure?" the inspector cut in briskly.

"Yes," Osborn insisted. "I don't know anything. It's your job to find that out, isn't it?"

Unfortunately, he likely wouldn't admit anything. Coulson made a note to get some SHIELD agents to look into Norman Osborn.

"We're not superhuman," the inspector muttered ill-temperedly, rubbing the back of his head. "If this is really a regular kidnapping, and not some strange villainous plan, then the kidnapper should contact you sometime about a ransom. I trust that you'll contact us?"

"Yes, yes, of course," Osborn said briskly, tapping his foot on the ground. "Now, I'll leave this in your capable hands. I'm a very busy man."

"You can't leave just yet, we still have questions for you-"

"I've given you all the information I have," Osborn snapped. "Direct any more of your questions to my driver. He was the one who was there and survived with only minimal injuries while my son was being kidnapped. You're fired, by the way."

"But-" the driver cut in, sounding horrified.

Osborn pushed his way out of the room, the police inspector sighing and letting him go.

Coulson sighed through his nose before turning to the driver.

"Can you give us a description of the supervillain who kidnapped Harry Osborn?" Coulson demanded.

"It was really all a blur…" the driver said dubiously. "I don't really remember much."

Coulson's serene smile tightened imperceptibly. "I see. Inspector, I think we'll leave this to you. SHIELD will explore other avenues. Be sure to contact us if you come up with anything."

The police inspector nodded once, curtly. "Come along, then you're coming to the interrogation room. You're not in any trouble- we just want to know everything that you remember."

"Let's go, Captain," Coulson suggested, turning to Rogers. He was still in uniform, given that Coulson had dragged him off soon after the battle was over. Coulson had figured that the presence of an actual Avenger would help smooth things over a bit and help identify the supervillain, but in the end, it had been superfluous.

Rogers nodded and followed Coulson out the door.

"Do you know how Peter is doing?" he asked, glancing at Coulson.

"No more than you do," Coulson replied shortly. "However, I believe the doctors said that he should make a full recovery."

"Right…" Rogers murmured, trailing off. "I knew that he was too young for this."

Coulson raised a thin eyebrow, but didn't comment.

Perhaps Parker _was_ too young, though Coulson had seen younger. But Parker was already a superhero, and he wouldn't stop anytime soon. The Avengers would get older, and they would need replacements eventually- and if SHIELD stopped Parker from being a superhero, who says that he would want to take up the mantle again in the future?

Then again, it wouldn't do for Parker to die before he even reached adulthood. Coulson made a mental note to do something about that.

* * *

Osborn tore into Dr. Warren's lab as soon as he got back to OsCorp Tower. Luckily for him, Dr. Warren was absent, having gone home already.

The testing on the serum was not yet done, but Osborn figured that it was safe enough. Desperate times called for desperate measures, after all.

He couldn't let Harry just die, unfortunately, but he had no plans to comply with whatever demands AIM made of him. And it had to be AIM; who else would have the funds and the guts to kidnap _his _son?

Osborn picked up a glass vial filled with a glowing green substance, and grinned.

They wouldn't see it coming.

* * *

**I see that you guys didn't really like the last couple chapters much, but I hope you like this one more. I'm pretty satisfied with it.**

**But as always, point out any typos and stuff.**


	8. No One Should Deny That

**So apparently Harry and Peter are gonna be childhood friends in TASM2, which makes this even more officially and totally AU. **

**(Now I'm wishing I started this later so I could've used that plot device because **_**have I mentioned how much I love Harry and Peter friendship?! **_**Goddammit I could've just made them friends **_**from the start**_**, but nope, they **_**had **_**to reveal it in July.)**

**But meh, the Avengers are in this, it's already majorly AU. Doesn't really matter that much.**

* * *

Chapter 7: No One Should Deny That

* * *

It had been a couple of days since the attack, and less than a day since he woke up in this hospital. As far as he could tell, Peter was in a regular old hospital, with normal, non-secret agent staff. This was quite the relief, as it would've been hard to explain something like that to his aunt when she visited yesterday.

None of the Avengers or Agent dearest had visited yet, but Peter was sure that someone would come sooner or later to yell at him or something.

The official story was apparently that he was one of the civilians injured in the attack. That worked fine for him. It was good that Tony was shouldering the hospital costs, because he doubted that Aunt May had the money to spare on medical bills.

Peter let out a soundless sigh, his eyes wandering to the whitewashed ceiling of the hospital. He shifted in the hospital bed he was in, feeling a bit uncomfortable.

"-you're healing remarkably quickly, Mr. Parker, and so with any luck, you'll be out within the next couple of days."

Letting out a genuine smile at the idea of being released, Peter gave a nod to the doctor in front of him.

"You'll get lunch in a couple hours," the doctor informed Peter, before heading for the door.

The room Peter was in was a private room, luckily enough. Of course, that meant that he had no one to strike up a conversation with to cure his boredom- not that he'd do something like that anyways, now that he thought about it. It'd be way too awkward trying to talk with a complete stranger that was probably in pain and in a bad mood.

Peter let out another sigh, a loud one this time. Pushing back the sheets, he pulled up the green hospital gown he was wearing to examine his wounds. They were predictably covered in bandages. Poking them caused a twinge of pain, but nothing too bad. Peter figured that the worst of his injuries had healed while he was asleep. Thank god that spider had given him something of a healing factor.

All of a sudden, the door swung open. Flushing red, Peter quickly dropped the hem of his gown and looked up at his visitor. It took just a second or two for his eyes to land on the face and recognize it.

"No," Peter said bluntly. He didn't move his head away from the book he had managed to procure from one of the nurses.

"What do you mea-"

"-No more stupid-as-hell lectures," Peter clarified, glancing at Captain America for a moment before returning to the book. Wait, he wasn't actually reading the book at the moment. He might as well just put it down. "We've done this how many times? Two hundred? Feels like two hundred."

"But I-"

"Enough. Like seriously. Enough." Peter placed down his book to wag a finger at Cap, who was still standing in the doorway with a flummoxed look on his face. "Get with the program. We need some new material here."

(Aw man, Captain America was going to blow up with rage any second now…)

"Would you please-"

"I already know what you're gonna say." Peter adopted a gruff tone that really didn't sound much like Captain America at all. "Peter, you're only sixteen, you're not old enough. Leave this to us elderly folk."

(Apparently frustration plus fear equals zero brain-to-mouth filter. Lovely.)

"Stop and liste-"

"Look, I know that-" Peter started.

"Peter." Cap hissed. "Listen."

Peter slammed his mouth shut. Thankfully Cap's irritated statement had helped his brain finally regain control over his mouth.

"You're almost as bad as Tony," the Captain muttered. He rubbed his forehead and sighed. "Peter, you could've died. It could've been even more dangerous had we been _on _the scene, because we didn't know you there-"

Peter clenched his fists tightly. "Why should I listen?"

"Excuse me?" Steve said, eyes blinking in confusion.

"You heard me. Why should I listen?" Peter repeated. "You told me to listen. But you didn't listen to me. Captain America or not, why shouldn't I give you the same treatment?"

Cap looked flustered. Peter pushed on before he could start talking-_lecturing -_ again.

"Why do you think I'm a superhero, Captain?" Peter demanded. "Do you think that it's because of the adrenaline rush or some crap like that? No. It's because my uncle- my uncle, who was much, much more my father than _any_ of the people society says can be called my father- told me that with great power comes great responsibility. Practically right before he died. I have the power to help. And I owe it to him- to everyone- to at least try to live up to the responsibility that comes with that."

Peter glared up at Captain America. "I'd have thought that that sort of thing would be match up with Captain America's morals and beliefs, but I guess I thought wrong."

Peter took no little pleasure in seeing Cap flinch.

"You know what?" Peter spat. "I've had it. I've had it with Tony and Clint being incapable of keeping my secrets. I've had it with you and your stupid 1940s morals or whatever. I've had it with Thor and his..." Peter waved his hands around randomly. "I don't know, his being loud , and the Black Widow and her being completely freaking scary or something. I was doing fine, _fine_ until you guys and SHIELD came in and turned over stones I didn't want turned."

Peter took a long breath at the end of his tirade. He realized that he had gotten so worked was almost panting/

"I'm... sorry," Captain America said quietly, his eyes averted to the ground. After a moment of contemplation as he looked to the ground, the Captain moved his head back up to look at Peter straight in the eyes. He extended a hand.

"I know this is too late, too little, but…" Cap sighed breathily. "I had the wrong impression of you. Could we maybe try again?"

Peter hesitated, staring at the hand. Try again? Why should they try again? Sure, maybe _Cap _had gotten the wrong impression of _him_, but Peter was sure that he hadn't gotten the wrong impression of Cap.

But…

Looking to the ceiling, Peter shrugged. Ah, whatever. What harm could come of accepting the offer? He grasped Cap's hand with his own and shook it firmly.

"Peter Parker," Peter introduced himself again.

"Steve. Steve Rogers," Captain America- Steve, Peter supposed- replied. "Nice to meet you."

Peter crooked a half-hearted grin. "Same here, I guess."

"I'll try to get Tony and Clint to back off," Steve said awkwardly. "We should've realized."

(Realized _what_ exactly?)

"Um, thanks," Peter said hesitantly.

(This was good.)

"I… I'll go now." Steve decided, backing up to the door. "I hope you'll heal well."

(This was what he needed.)

Peter waved good-bye as the door closed behind Steve.

(It was stupid to hang out with Tony so much in the first place.)

Peter nodded determinedly.

(It wasn't as if _Tony _cared enough to visit him in the hospital anyways.)

"Guess I might as well sleep," Peter murmured, closing his eyes.

(This was good.)

* * *

Harry let out a groan as he came to. A blinding headache distracted him for a few minutes as he gradually shook off his tiredness. Finally, he blinked his eyes open, a hand rubbing his forehead in an attempt to assuage his headache.

He jolted up from the bed at the sight of the unfamiliar ceiling. Now that Harry was more aware, he noted that the bed he was in was practically nothing but a metal frame. It was rather uncomfortable, really. He glanced around, disorientated, trying to figure out where he was. He was in a small room- cell, he corrected himself, noticing the metal bars on one side of the room- that was maybe five by five at most. A bright florescent strip light glowed down from ceiling, brightly lighting the room and its grey-white walls.

Harry concentrated. Obviously, he had been kidnapped. It must've been… during that limousine ride home. That was the last thing he remembered, riding in the limousine. He purposely didn't think of what could've happened while he was blacked out.

Despite what people might assume, he had never been kidnapped before, despite being the son of the CEO of a major corporation. Which is why he was going to panic right about now.

"Oh, god," Harry muttered. He hugged himself, eyes wide with horror. Trembling a bit, he stared down at the scratched metal surface of the bed. "Oh _god._"

"You're finally awake?"

Harry looked up towards the metal bars at the sound of the unpleasantly familiar voice. He let out a little shriek at the sight of the… person… standing there. Metal curled around the majority of… his?... face, with only parts of the forehead and one of his eyes untouched. The other eye was covered by a glowing blue monocle of some sorts. A tube ran from his mouth to his back, where it probably connected to a device of some sort. Metal gauntlets covered his arms up to the elbow. The most eerie thing about the whole getup would have to be the neat business suit he wore.

"Wh-what are you?" Harry demanded, his face whitening. He shuffled back on the bed, trying to increase the distance between him and the thing. The metal bars in front of him suddenly felt like a bit of a blessing.

"Of course you don't recognize me." the man sneered, placing his hands behind his back as he paced in front of Harry's cell. "Little, useless, Harry, given all the money and power he wants just because his father is actually somewhat intelligent. I probably wasn't even a _footnote _in your brain, now was I?"

"I…" Harry wracked his panicked brain, desperately trying to pin down where he had heard the man's voice before. Reluctantly, he even dragged his gaze to the man's face, examining the general structure in an attempt to recognize it. It was no use. Harry doubted he'd be able to figure out who the man was when he _wasn't _in a highly stressful situation.

"It's Stromm! Mendel Stromm!" the man spat, his mismatched eyes blazing. He clenched the metal bars of Harry's cell and shook them in anger. "Your father firedme. Me! I was one of the founding members of OsCorp, and he _fired _me. Your father wasn't the only one with medical problems, but unlike him, _I _wasn't somehow given a miracle cure. I needed the money to save my life! I had no choice but to steal from the company."

Harry's eyes bulged. This was _Stromm_? Mr. Stromm? What in the world had happened to him?

"This-" Stromm gestured down at himself. "- it's a temporary measure. Once Norman coughs up the scientific data that this organization wants in exchange for you, they'll give me the same cure they sold Norman. And all I had to do was kidnap you to give Norman some incentive- and of course, wreck some havoc on New York in the meantime! They even gave me the materials to make all the robots I needed."

Stromm gave Harry a nasty smile as he stepped back from the bars.

"Of course, you're not going to _actually _leave this place," Stromm continued, his smile spreading across the half of his face not covered by metal. "As long as they get the data, AIM doesn't care about what happens to you. They don't think that Norman Osborn is much of a threat to their large corporation, especially when he doesn't even know who they are. Unfortunately, your father is a threat to me personally, which is why I'm not stupid enough to go and try to kill him for revenge when he's on guard. So I'll have to settle for you. I can't exactly let you live now that you know that it was me who kidnapped you, anyways."

Harry put his head in his hands as Stromm walked away, the grating sound of metal on metal gradually fading.

There was no way that Norman would give up his precious scientific data for _him_. And even if he did, Stromm had just promised to kill him.

Either way…

He was dead.

* * *

"Bruce," Peter said with surprise, before coughing in embarrassment. "Um, hi."

Bruce's mouth twitched up into a small smile. He rubbed the back of his head awkwardly before talking.

"Tony isn't happy. Clint isn't really happy either," Bruce commented. "But Steve came back pretty mollified. What'd you say to him?"

Peter just shrugged. He wondered whether or not this had a point. Bruce was a nice guy, but Peter had ended up not really interacting with him much. Why was he here?

Silently, Bruce wandered over to the window and looked outside.

"Are you not happy too?" Peter asked, staring at Bruce's back.

"In a way, I'm always 'not happy'," Bruce replied, not turning around. Noticing that Bruce's answer wasn't really an answer at all, Peter scowled. "But am I not happy about this, you in the hospital?"

Bruce turned from the window and pulled up a plastic chair near Peter's bed. He sat himself down, hands in his pockets.

"The answer to that would be no."

Peter blinked in surprise and examined Bruce's face. He didn't seem to be lying. In fact, he even seemed to be completely sincere.

(Maybe it was out of necessity. He probably wanted to be angry but couldn't.)

"Lemme clarify." Bruce let out a little laugh. "It's not good that you got hurt. And I'm not really that happy about that. But I'm not any less unhappy than if one of the Avengers got hurt like you did. Because you know what? You are a superhero. And…"

Bruce let out a sigh out of his nose. Rubbing the back of his head, he continued.

"You're doing a lot more good than I did when I was sixteen." Bruce gave Peter a crooked smile. "Much more than I'm doing now, even-"

"- That's not true!" Peter shot up straight in his bed, wincing as the sudden movement agitated his wounds. But he wasn't deterred. "Are you kidding me? I read your journal on converting bio-nuclear transmission for use as a purification device for polycyclic hydrocarbons and formaldehyde-"

"You did?" Bruce blurted out, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Yeah, sure, nuclear physics is definitely not my thing, but what little I do know along with my biology knowledge is more than enough for me to understand that what you thought up is genius," Peter exclaimed heatedly, waving his hands around in a rather poor attempt to express his awe. "Once it gets adapted for commercial use- and I'm sure someone will be able to do it- it could easily reduce worldwide pollution by, hell, 25%, if it was used everywhere. So what if you don't make flashy engineering toys like Tony, your work still does a lot of good for the world."

"Well, um…" Bruce scratched his cheek with his index finger, his face flushing. "That's, uh, I mean…"

"Oh, yeah, also, your alter ego helps save the world," Peter added as an afterthought, nodding. "Nearly forgot."

Bruce laughed, shaking his head. He rubbed the back of his head again, looking down at the ground.

"Well, thanks, Peter." Bruce smiled slightly.

"For what?" Peter shot back, settling back in his bed. He hoped he hadn't agitated his wound too much with his little outburst. After all, he didn't want his hospital stay elongated.

Bruce just shook his head, that smile still on his face. He let out a short huff of amusement before speaking up again.

"Anyways, look. I don't think we- SHIELD, the Avengers- have the right to stop you from being a superhero," Bruce continued. "You're helping out, in your own way, and no one should deny that. But can you do one thing?"

"What?" Peter demanded, cocking his head to the side.

"Leave the supervillains to us. The crazies. The ones that can and will kill you easily," Bruce explained, his face sobering. "I mean, I don't even know if the Other Guy thinks of you as an ally. You're not anywhere as near experienced as the other Avengers, and that's a fact. You should stick to your skillset."

Peter stared down at the white sheets of the bed, turning Bruce's statement over in his head. Finally, he shrugged.

"I'll… well, I'll think about it," Peter muttered.

Bruce pushed back his chair as he stood up.

"Well, think about it then," Bruce said, heading to the door. "Just remember- I know you want to do this, but that doesn't mean you need a death wish."

* * *

**I kept on wanting to put quips in that scene with Harry and Stromm, but I had to remind myself that it was Harry not Peter, and it wouldn't be in character in the slightest.**

**Pity, I kept on thinking up so many good quips.**

**The next chapter will be up within the next week or so because I'm already more or less halfway through. It's the part I've been dying to do since the very start of the story, so I hope you'll like it.**

**Oh and as always, please point out any typos or other mistakes.**


	9. He Was An Idiot

**So a question to all of my American readers- do you usually call your classmates by their first names or last names? Because in TV shows and movies and the such, everyone seems to call each other by their last names, so I was wondering whether or not it was an American thing or if the writers just had no idea what American schools nowadays are like.**

**I mean, I had Harry and Peter call each other by their first names despite not really knowing each other because that's what I'm used to, but…**

**(P.S. If you think you missed a chapter or something after reading the first scene, no, no you didn't, don't worry. Unless you actually did I guess, but you probably didn't. I just wrote it like this.)**

* * *

Chapter 8: He Was An Idiot

* * *

Peter groaned in pain as he came to, his head aching terribly. Shifting in the chair he found himself in, he realized that he was restrained. Glancing down, he could see that his feet were strapped to the chair's legs with handcuffs. Jerking his arms confirmed that his hands were trapped behind him. Peter attempted to stand up along with the chair, but to no avail. A further examination of the chair revealed that it was bolted to the floor. Despite his enhanced strength from the spiderbite, Peter doubted that he'd be able to break his way free that easily.

A cold chill went down Peter's spine when he realized that he wasn't wearing his mask- or any of his costume, for that matter. His web-shooters were gone as well. He seemed to be wearing a generic set of clothing he didn't recognize.

His identity was out in the open for everyone to see.

(Or at least, for whoever had trapped him to see.)

"Now," Peter muttered to himself, his eyes flickering around the small concrete room. "How did I get here again?"

Concentrating hard let the memories trickle in, one by one. Peter let out a sigh.

(Ah yes.)

(That's how.)

* * *

Coulson let out a breath, concentrating on keeping his composure. He looked up with a bland look at the agent in front of him.

"You have reason to believe that Mr. Parker may have run into some… trouble, Agent Blake?" Coulson confirmed, leaning forwards onto his desk.

"Yes, sir," the agent replied, nodding curtly. "As you're aware, myself and Agent Murray are assigned to the security of May Parker and the… surveillance of Peter Parker. Late last night, Peter Parker left the residence, as is typical. However, he did not return in the morning. May Parker attempted to contact him via his cell phone upon discovering his disappearance, but he appeared to not answer. At this point, Agent Murray arrived to take on his shift, and I returned to SHIELD headquarters to report this situation to you."

"Thank you, Agent Blake," Coulson said, after a moment of contemplation. "I will take over things from here on out. If you don't have anything more to add, you're dismissed."

"Just one thing, sir," the agent added quickly. "A new super appeared yesterday night, right? One that didn't seem to be on our side. I heard people saying that another superhero was with him or fought him or- well, I'm sure that you know more than me, sir. Could he have something to do with Parker disappearing?"

Coulson paused, before nodding slowly. "That does seem likely. I'll be sure to look into it. You can go now."

Nodding curtly, the agent headed out of Coulson's office, leaving Coulson to lean back onto his chair with a sigh. After spending that briefest moment relaxing, Coulson got to business. Clicking on a name on his computer, he waited until a video screen popped up before talking.

"Agent Johnson," Coulson greeted shortly.

"Agent Coulson," the man on the screen replied, just as shortly. "Did you need something?"

"You're in charge of investigating the new super, correct?" Coulson asked. The question was mostly rhetorical. He wouldn't have contacted Johnson if he hadn't known that he was investigating the new supervillain. "What were you calling him again-"

"The Goblin's what he calls himself, according to one of our witnesses." Johnson shrugged. "I'm sorry, but we don't know much yet, if it's info you want."

"He may have run into one of the superheroes under my jurisdiction," Coulson explained. "Spider-Man, to be precise. Give me anything you've got."

* * *

The metal door in front of Peter opened with a creak. Peter looked up half-heartedly. It had probably been at least a few hours since he had woken up, and he was thirsty and bored. At least he wasn't hungry yet.

Peter's eyes flickered up and down the person in front of him. He raised an eyebrow.

"Not really what I was expecting," Peter commented, forcing a bored tone into his voice. He hoped he sounded convincing. "I mean, suit, tie, manicured fingernails? I was totally expecting some sort of deformed man-monster who spoke in a growly voice. You just look like you're gonna sit down and talk about the weather or something."

The suited man in front of him glared at him with a dark look, clearly unamused.

"What, it's true." Peter shrugged. "Not my fault if you can't take the truth. Don't feel bad, I'm sure you're a super scary supervillain deep down. You've already got the 'kidnap innocent sixteen-year old boys' part down pat. Wait, now that I think about that, that's pretty creepy. Your Goblin hireling has the creepy part, you don't need to add to it, trust me."

"The Goblin isn't our hireling," the man interjected. "We were under the assumption that he was your ally that betrayed you, but I see that isn't the case."

"So he's a third party then," Peter muttered. He shrugged again. "Whatever, doesn't change the fact that you should really let me go. I have friends in high places."

"I'm sure you do," the man said condescendingly. "But then, so do we- Peter Parker."

Peter gulped at the sound of his name. Well, so much for his secret identity.

"It was a surprise that it was _you_ under the mask," the man commented. "But at the same time, it's not something that wasn't that unexpected."

"Which is it? Are you surprised, or are you not surprised because you expected it?" Peter cocked his head to the side. "Are you one of those crazies, because that was a total logi-"

"-Richard Parker's son," the man interrupted through gritted teeth. "I can't really see the resemblance. Richard knew when to shut up."

Peter slammed his mouth shut. His heart gave a jolt.

(This got a whole lot more interesting.)

"Say," Peter started, a falsely sweet smile on his face. "I never did get your name."

"You can call me Dr. Killian," Killian replied. He looked down at Peter with a holier-than-thou look. "I'm the one mainly responsible for those powers you have."

"Yeah?" Peter raised an eyebrow and proceeded to lie through his teeth. "How does that work? Because I'm 99% sure I got my powers from a genetically altered spider. So unless your superpower is transforming into a spider, I don't see how you could've given me my powers."

Killian shook his head in obviously fake sadness. "Oh, Peter, Peter, Peter. The spider was only a key. The groundwork was laid in your genome years before, by myself and your father."

Peter took a deep breath. He had to keep Killian talking. His answers were right in front of him. He couldn't mess this up.

"So is that's why you kidnapped me?" Peter asked carefully. "Because you experimented on me?"

"About fifteen years ago, I was the leader of a small think tank," Killian said abruptly. "We were trying to create a new breed of super soldiers. We called it 'Extremis'- the Extremis virus, to be precise. Only, you see, things weren't going so well. Things exploded. The virus wouldn't do what we wanted to the subjects."

(He was monologuing.)

"That's when your father came in, you see," Killian continued. "Tony Stark-"

Peter nearly jumped at the name.

Killian couldn't know, could he?

"-had just turned down an offer to join our think tank, in a rather rude way, to say the least." Killian scowled deeply. "I was… rather down. I attended a convention about, oh, biology stuff you wouldn't understand, and there I met your father. He was working at OsCorp at the time, but he was interested in my work and ended up on the team as a part time member."

(Okay, Peter could work with monologuing.)

"Your father understood what people needed to do in order to get results. Or rather, he _used _to," Killian hissed, flipping around to give Peter a dirty look. "Until experimenting on you suddenly gave him a moral fiber. He had agreed to it- he knew that the type of experimentation would be harmless at worst. But no, suddenly it was _wrong _and _immoral _to do these sorts of things. He was going to _go to the authorities! _We couldn't have that, and so we had him killed."

(But seriously, _monologuing_?)

"Richard died in a plane crash," Peter pointed out. "You're saying that you had enough power and influence to crash an entire plane just to kill one guy? You said that you were a small think tank."

"Oh, by that point we had been taken in by our current employers. Ironically, it had been your father's work with splicing animal and human DNA that had attracted them to us in the first place," Killian smiled widely, a hint of insanity to the smile. "And trust me, they had more than enough power to kill your father…"

Peter didn't know what to feel. His memories of Richard were blurred and vague. And from all he knew of him, he hadn't really been someone Peter could've looked up to. Peter supposed he should be angry that Killian had took his chance to have a real father, but- Richard had already taken that chance away himself with his actions. Peter really couldn't bring himself to get mad.

"…and your mother, of course. We couldn't afford any loose ends. You were lucky to get spared, but in the end we decided it would be too suspicious if the entire family died at once."

Peter's blood froze.

His mother hadn't died in a car accident. It had been a car crash, but not an accident. Not in any way an accident.

Richard was one thing- he wasn't even his biological father- but his mother, his mother was different. Aunt May was very dear to him, but Peter wouldn't be lying if he said that he had never thought about what his actual mother would be like. And this man- this insane doctor in front of him- had orchestrated it. Orchestrated her death.

Peter clenched his fists tightly, nails carving little crescent moons into his skin. Now, now he was angry. Not as angry as he had been with Uncle Ben, but he still felt furious. What right did this asshole have to kill people off just like that? Not just Richard, not just his mother, but everyone he'd experimented on, the other people on the plane Richard had been on.

"What's your game then?" Peter snapped, struggling to unclench his teeth. "Why capture me?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Killian said, surprised. "We're going to study you. Figure out how to duplicate your powers. Something completely new like Extremis is one thing, but now we have a working sample of someone with animal spliced DNA, it shouldn't be as difficult. Though, you won't survive the process, of course."

(Experimented on. He was going to get experimented on. Again.)

"Our original plan was to get Osborn to cough up his personal forays into animal/human splicing, as well as the altered GG Formula that he originally got from us, but this is much simpler." Killian shrugged. "Besides, it seems as though Osborn has no intention of paying up anyways."

"Osborn?" Peter repeated. He jerked up. "You're the people who kidnapped Harry Osborn!"

"I'm not saying anything," Killian replied in a bored tone. He whipped out a syringe from somewhere and walked towards Peter, feet tapping loudly on the concrete floor. "Now, I suggest you stay still, or this will be a lot worse for you."

Peter swallowed his pride and obediently didn't struggle. He couldn't escape from the chair anytime in the next few seconds, which meant that struggling would be meaningless and make things worse for himself. Peter winced as the syringe entered his shoulder. He watched as blood gushed into the syringe, filling it up. After what seemed like an eternity, the syringe was removed.

"It's in our interests to keep you alive for as long as possible, lucky for you," Killian explained, carefully examining the syringe in his hand. "We'll start with blood samples, but we'll move up to samples of more… irreparable things… soon enough. I suggest you prepare yourself."

Killian exited the room from the solitary door in the middle of the wall in front of Peter. Peter could hear the lock click, which brought his chance of escape down quite a bit. He had already examined the entirety of the room that he could see. Unfortunately, the only non-concrete parts were the security camera in the corner, the metal door, and the glass light above him. Not exactly the ideal tools for escape.

He was such an _idiot._

He had just been released from the hospital the day before yesterday, and he had been getting antsy. Bruce and Steve's words still bothering him, he had decided to go out as Spider-Man.

Peter had barely been out for fifteen minutes when he had spotted the weirdo on some sort of glider-skateboard thing. He had confronted the guy (about his questionable sense of fashion- really, green and purple?) but had very nearly gotten a bomb in his face for his troubles. After being attacked, well, Peter hadn't had any choice but follow the weirdo (who had by then declared himself the Goblin in a creepily maniacal tone) and try to take him down, Bruce and Steve be damned. There hadn't been any time to contact the Avengers, and besides, Peter had been sure that the guy was small fry.

He had followed the Goblin into a nondescript building, at which point his memory got a little fuzzy. Peter remembered a lot of smoke, weird people wearing a lot of yellow, and cursing himself for being stupid.

Peter looked up to stare at the security camera. Maybe he could do something in the camera's blind spot. If he could just get one bolt loose, he could maybe force the rest of the chair off the ground and maybe attack someone who entered the room.

Biting his lip, he painstakingly wrapped a part of the chain connecting his feet to the chair legs around the large bolt. He pulled, hard.

The bolt moved the slightest bit. Obviously, these things hadn't been tightened that much.

Peter let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. He casually looked towards the security camera, making sure that his body was still covering up his feet. He returned his gaze to the door, in order to avoid suspicion, and returned to trying to unbolt the chair from the ground.

Once he could get the chair off the ground, he could work on escaping his handcuffs.

No way was he gonna stay here and let himself be used to make mercenaries or weird super soldiers or whatever 'Dr. Killian' wanted to make.

Also, if he didn't escape by himself, the Avengers would probably never let him hear the end of it.

* * *

"Are you going to contact the Avengers?" Johnson asked from his chair, giving Coulson a sidelong glance before returning to the files in front of him. They were an incomplete set of information on the super(villain?) that had appeared yesterday. Johnson was attempting to round up all the information in a concise form, and he appeared to be succeeding.

"I don't think their expertise is necessary just yet," Coulson replied. Crouching down, he examined Johnson's files over his shoulder with a critical eye. "The Avengers are in charge of more… global threats. I'm sure you know that since the HYDRA attack on the bridge, we've been expecting some sort of more… major attack. We can't afford for them to be distracted. SHIELD can deal with the situation. It's not as if we don't have a whole department dedicated to the observation and, if necessary, the imprisonment of superpowered human beings."

Johnson nodded in agreement. "Here's the files you wanted. Any questions?"

"Have we got any idea who the man behind the green mask is?"

Johnson grimaced. "It was the middle of the night in a pretty abandoned sector of the city. Not many witnesses- didn't even make it on the news. Rest assured though, the next time he appears, we'll have him."

"I expect we will," Coulson murmured. Straightening up, he gave a curt nod in farewell before making for the door. Halfway there, he paused and glanced back. "Agent Johnson-"

"-Yes?"

"Have you submitted any of your information or your report to the archives yet?"

"No, not yet." Johnson blinked once, the only outward indication of his confusion. "Why?"

"Could you delay your report for a day?" Coulson asked. "We still haven't plugged Stark's hole in the systems, and we're relatively certain that 'Spider-Man' is one of the terms he's flagged. It'll make my job easier if I don't have to deal with him for a little longer."

"We're never going to plug Stark's hole in the systems," Johnson muttered pessimistically. He sighed and waved Coulson away, a vaguely irritated look on his face. "Fine, I'll delay the report. You owe me one."

Coulson gave Johnson a short smile. "Thank you."

* * *

**Oh yes, by the way, I have a tumblr now at**** namikazeartemis(/./)tumblr(/./)com**. (remove the parentheses and dashes.) I'll post info about what I plan to write next and answer questions and stuff I guess. I considered just putting it on my profile page, but I know none of you guys check it out anyways so it'd be a bit meh to post it there.


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